Champagne in the Morning
by Writeress
Summary: When he was seventeen, Arnold learned to hate. Now, eleven years later, he finally has the chance for revenge. But when his hate turns to love, will he be able to handle the pressure? Completely Reposted
1. Chapter One

Well, unfortunately, My story got deleted, which really sucks because I lost all of my reviews (I know I shouldn't care about things like that, but I do, so sue me) Whatever, since I'm writing a sequel to this, obviously, I should repost the original. Well, this is too much work for one night, I'll try to get it up as soon as possible though. And I expect 10 reviews for every chapter! Lol j/k unless u want to review, of course.. ; )  
  
Champagne in the Morning  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Helga G Pataki looked out the window of the moving plane as it flew overhead of her birthplace. Before long it would land and she would step on the ground she last experienced eleven years ago. She could still feel the hardness of it, the rough scratch against her knees on the day that she left, the scar was still there, hidden by time, but not beyond recognition.  
  
Helga did not want to revisit the past; she had not in a decade, and had no intention of breaking the vow she took on that rainy evening. It was a clear night, and as Helga gazed at the long forgotten sanctuary, her heart became heavy with a cruel nostalgia. It was not the sensation one encounters when a sore is rubbed, or salt is poured onto a wound. It was a sensation of utter dullness, utter indifference. The reverie of the energy this city drew from her, and the realization of the emptiness it left behind easily incited rage in her on a regular occasion.  
  
Tonight was different, tonight she was faced with a vivid image of what she had left behind, and that image, in itself, was horrifyingly ineffective. Nothing frightened her anymore; nothing hurt her. Helga was invincible, infallible. She acted with her head and not her heart. Her colleagues described her as being insensitive, indifferent, cold, and heartless. She was. She did not see the wrong in that. Was it not the mentioned insensitivity, indifference, coldness, and heartlessness that drove her to become what she had become? She was the CEO of an infamous but, nevertheless, successful communications company. She owned people, literally owned people. Her friends were her servants and her enemies were her slaves. To succeed within the harsh brutality of Helga's stigma one had to comply with many disadvantages. She was feared, but she was respected, she had a power over people, despite their denial. She was despised, she was cursed, she was slandered, but she was never betrayed. When Helga entered a room, silence would drain all the whispers in its eagerness to hear what she had to say.  
  
Helga never married, nor did she ever have a truly emotional attachment to another human being. She lost her virginity in Smartass University during a night of wild drunkenness, which she never repeated again. She learned from her mistakes. Helga was not beautiful, she was not utterly unhandsome either, but her outward appearance could never measure up to the modern definition of an attractive woman. She had long blonde hair, which she wore up since it complimented her intimidation, and blue eyes, which were sincere enough to give her inner soul away to anyone who could look deep, but went unnoticed due to her crude behavior. Her body was not perfect, she was tall, and had long legs to accommodate for the flat chest. Her shoulders were small, but the masculine business suits always broadened them.  
  
To pick her out of the crowd would be close to impossible if her face was not associated with a particular indignation, which, in most cases, it was. Helga was more known through the way of mouth than through eyesight. She preferred to conduct business with curtains drawn.  
  
Powerful men were never drawn to her, she was too power-mad and egotistical to appreciate the appeal of being housed in strong, muscled arms. This was the general impression from her act. Only weaker vessels were out for her good graces, but weakness irritated Helga. Another problem was the fact that Helga could not trust men. The scar was still on her knee, it was a reminder of that gruesome day. As said before, Helga learned from her mistakes.  
  
She was a genius, a very young genius, but a genius nonetheless. The company had grown from seeds, Helga was its fertilizer. It started out with her father's retirement. Big Bob's Beepers, not an inspirational slogan, but Helga turned it into an empire. She slept her way into investors' good graces, and bribed her way into the advertisers' good tabloids. Before long, she began to thrive on competition, shattering them using the simple act of blackmail. Her weapons were never honorable, but they were weapons just the same. She lived by a simple logic. It doesn't matter how they die as long as they die.  
  
Presently, she found her attentions in the first class cabin of the continental flight. The surrounding was lavish and remarkable. Helga sighed at its dullness; she was not at all impressed.  
  
"When will we be landing?" she haughtily asked the passing flight attendant, a beautiful girl with auburn hair and sincere brown eyes. Her innocence did not strike Helga, it only irritated her.  
  
"In approximately ten minutes," she smiled.  
  
"Get me a glass of water," Helga commanded.  
  
"I'm sorry, we'll be landing soon and."  
  
"You told me that already, now get me the water."  
  
"I'm not authorized to."  
  
"Get me a glass of water," Helga said forcefully.  
  
The stewardess would not yield, "I'm sorry ma'am, I am not permitted."  
  
Helga's _expression softened, "Consider yourself unemployed," she smiled.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
A senior woman ran up to replace the novice. "I'm sorry for any disadvantage she may have caused, she is new here" the woman pleaded and redirected her attention to the trainee, "go get some water, and some champagne."  
  
She complied.  
  
"I'm sorry, and please, take the complimentary champagne as our deepest apology."  
  
Helga nodded and turned toward the window. In the distance she heard faint chatter.  
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"  
  
"I was following the rules!"  
  
"That's Helga G. Pataki, she makes the damn rules."  
  
Helga smiled at the praise and regained the reminiscence.  
  
  
  
  
  
Arnold opened his eyes to the incandescence of the waking day. Rays of light beamed through the half-drawn silk curtains over his Victorianesque bedroom. The energizing sunlight played against the beige walls and reflected off the newly polished mahogany furniture.  
  
A smug smile went over Arnold's lips as he extended his hand to find the feel of silk against his palm. It was a blessing compared to the possibility of smooth flesh. She was gone, thankfully, there was no need to find an excuse for a departure, no need to reckon with the inadequate silence and the sloppy kisses on his cleanly shaven skin. She was gone. Another night of entertainment without attachment. It felt almost as exciting as taking candy from a baby, sneaking into a movie through the back door.  
  
He was a man less than holy, but that never seemed to bother him. Eleven years ago, perhaps, but not now. He had changed, his heart had hardened, and he lost all interest in the cleanliness this world had to offer. What could have caused such a change within him? Habit, perhaps. Perhaps cruelty was like rich dark chocolate. It had its own unique, bittersweet flavor. Not everyone enjoyed it, but those who did were hooked for life. Perhaps it was like smoking. You cough for a short period of time, but when you get used to it, a single cigarette can make your life more blissful. Perhaps cruelty was like sex. The first few times are painful and uncomfortable, but when you gain experience, it feels like the most extraordinary act in the world. Habit, it all lay in the habit. Happiness is always momentary; it is a chocolate bar, a cigarette, a one- night stand. But when it is all over, all bliss disappears and you are left only with remorse. And that is when you jump to the next chocolate, next cigarette, next one-night-stand. But after Arnold ate the sweets, puffed the pack, fucked the model, after it was all over and he felt neither hungry, tense, or lonely, he needed something else. That something else, that gratification, he found in cruelty. Cruelty was universal, unstoppable, unrestrained. Cruelty was a new nature of habits, that something that accounted for the insatiable emptiness he felt within.  
  
On the nightstand, Arnold noticed a paper on which, in feminine handwriting, was scribbled a telephone number and a lipstick mark of a seductive shade. He made his way toward it and picked up the reward. He then proceeded to smell the dab, sigh with gratification, and toss the paper into a trashcan, filled with many of the same kind. "Oops," he said cynically, "What did I do with that paper?" With his morning ritual completed, Arnold began to dress.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Ms. Pataki! Please, Ms. Pataki! Do you have any statements regarding the commotion lately circulating your persona?" exclaimed Lila Monolli as she followed Helga to the contemporary doorway into the biggest skyscraper in the city with a tape recorder.  
  
Helga tried to avoid the press at all costs. The scandal dealing with the lawsuit, which she had come to attend, was better left not exploited by the sneaky reporters.  
  
"No comment," she replied irritably, scurrying up the sidewalk.  
  
"Does your lack of words imply the possibility that you are nervous about the outcome of the trial?"  
  
Helga was angered, and despite the warning produced by all of her image consultants and PR agents, she would not let an inferior interrogate her.  
  
"Does your diarrhea of words imply the possibility that you are nervous about the lack of content for the expose you are writing on the evildoings of the corporate giant?"  
  
Lila's green eyes brightened, "Not at all. What makes you think that?"  
  
"I know your type," Helga grumbled, "And I know you. I think it's pretty self-explanatory."  
  
Lila lessened her composure, "I know you too, but I don't think that needs to interfere with our professional relationship."  
  
"I would agree with you," Helga began to walk away while speaking, "if we had a professional relationship."  
  
This time, Lila did not follow. She knew this was not the place to be if she wanted information. Instead, she redirected her attention to the opposite side of the conflict, and a certain connection she had within it. Lila called a cab, and almost momentarily one pulled up.  
  
A Russian immigrant, Mr. Kakashka, whom Lila knew well, drove the vehicle.  
  
"Where today?" he asked in a less than sober tone.  
  
Despite the slight nervousness Lila responded, "FootballHead Inc."  
  
Arnold was sitting in his office and overlooking the portfolio containing important papers about the case. It was a lawsuit unlike any other. For the first time someone dared to deal with the shady but powerful BBB. This was a big one, and Arnold, as the owner and top partner at the most prestigious law firm in the country, was in charge. He knew he could grab BBB by its balls. Proof was gushing through the ceiling.  
  
Charges of blackmail, threats, bribes, attempts at monopoly, and even links to criminal organizations. The equipment distributed to the population was not only fragmented, but also unsafe, and a nationwide recall was only a few months away. This was not the least of it. Thirteen charges on fraud were made, including insurance. There was possibility of theft, and even spying on the competition. This was more than McDonald's infamous coffee incident. Someone was going to jail.  
  
A leggy brunette entered Arnold's office and sank on the desk, crossing her perfectly molded limbs. Arnold always had a liking for that particular part of a woman's physique.  
  
"Rhonda." He smiled, "How are you today?"  
  
"You didn't call," she moaned seductively.  
  
"Neither did you," he quickly responded without looking up. Arnold had a rebuttal for every argument; he wasn't married yet.  
  
"Men are supposed to call women."  
  
"Only if you are old fashioned."  
  
"I am not old fashioned," Rhonda cried in indignation, "I am the most sought out, overbooked model in this damn city, I think I know my shit."  
  
"In that case, I should interpret it as you not being interested in me?"  
  
"Arnold!" she approached and threw her arms around his neck.  
  
He did not enjoy the show of affection. This ex prom queen, whom he had known since he was young, did not strike any heat within him. The only reason he had ever taken her out to dinner and afterward to his castle of an apartment was because every other man in the world would kill to have her. Arnold liked being admired. In his world, and, as it seemed, the world of all others, the one with the most toys won. He was a legend in his town.  
  
"Does your father know about this?"  
  
"No," she replied, "You said it would be better to keep things secret between us since my dad works in the same building and you don't want any trouble."  
  
"Exactly," he said, "So would you please be so kind as to release that ghastly grasp? You're suffocating me."  
  
"I'm sorry," Rhonda awkwardly obeyed.  
  
No one else had ever dared to treat her in that way. Arnold's dauntlessness aroused her, and she was desperate to have him for herself. Suddenly, there rang a soothing bell and a stern voice spoke through the loudspeaker.  
  
"Mr. Arnold, Mrs. Monolli is here and she desperately wishes to speak to you."  
  
Mrs. Monolli, Arnold hated that phrase. Lila was the only living human he could bring himself to unconditionally respect. She was as beautiful now as she was in fourth grade, when he first encountered her. Never did she fade; never did her image cease to exist in his deepest, sweetest dreams, safely tucked away in the farthest realms of his imagination. He felt for her such passion, as there never could be in simple one-night stands. He did not want to fuck Lila; he wanted to make love to her.  
  
Why did she have to go and get married? They would have been so good together. He could just imagine waking up next to her every morning, gazing into her unspoken, glamorous eyes every night. He could have been the happiest man in the world just by trying to make her the happiest woman. He could have been the kindest, most earnest. She could have listened to him, understood him, helped him carry the load. She could have been his salvation, but she was his punishment. She could have rescued him. But she didn't.  
  
The secretary awaited instructions.  
  
"Let her in," Arnold commanded.  
  
Another bell rang and the conversation was finished.  
  
"Rhonda, I must speak in private with Mrs. Monolli," it pained him to pronounce these words.  
  
"I understand," she said bitterly, "Good bye."  
  
She exited the office. A few minutes later, Lila entered, and at the mere familiarity of her innocent green frock Arnold felt himself spring up and walk towards her.  
  
"Hello," he stumbled, "How are you?"  
  
"Why, I'm ever so well, I'm going to Thailand with Jonathan as soon as I am done with my present assignment," she smiled, not noticing his agitation, "And you? How is your work?"  
  
"Good," he said professedly, "Just the case, I've been working on it for months, and look where it's gotten me. I'm pretty excited."  
  
He invited her to sit opposite of him at the desk.  
  
"Me too," Lila smiled as she situated herself across from the awe struck man.  
  
"Isn't it kind of special how we are working on the same case? I think it brings us closer together." Arnold could not believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. On no occasion would he speak in such a way except that of the glorious Lila.  
  
"Yes," Lila smiled, "We are great friends." She had always known his feelings but was too afraid to acknowledge that she did not feel the same way. She loved the friendship and the source, and was too afraid to wreck both.  
  
"Would you like to have lunch together?" he asked.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, "I have a meeting and then I have to go home. Jonathan and I are flying to New York to see an opera, I think its Carmen."  
  
"Oh," Arnold sighed ruefully, "Then why are you here?"  
  
"I came here to talk to you about the case," she said honestly, "I had a brief but interesting conversation with someone.Brief.but interesting." "Who was it?" he inquired. "It was Helga G. Pataki. Apparently, she flew in last night for the trial."  
  
Arnold knelt hid head to hide the look of disgust from his precious dove.  
  
"I wanted to warn you. I knew you would react in this way."  
  
"In what way?" he asked, his resonant tone giving him away.  
  
"Arnold," Lila said somberly, "Is the real reason why you're doing this to Big Bob's Beepers what happened ten years ago? Trust me, I did a follow up on him for the article, he's living in a retirement home somewhere in Florida. It is ever so stupid to revisit the past."  
  
"My Grandparents are living in a retirement home somewhere in Florida. Mr. Kakashka is a cab driver; his wife left him to go to a rich man. I don't even know where the rest of them are. None of this would have happened if the boarding house was still there, now it's just an empty lot because Big Bobs Beepers decided to relocate."  
  
"But Arnold..."  
  
"They stayed there for two years, Lila!" he screamed, "They wrecked the boarding house and put the store in, for two years of hardly thriving business, they destroyed over a hundred years' worth of history. They destroyed my childhood, Lila." His voice was passionate and deep. "But I'm not doing this because of that," he continued sadly, "I'm doing this for the money, I'm doing this so that I can be on the cover of Mall Street Journal, so that they call me a hero for cleaning a toilet."  
  
Lila rose and walked to him. Her hands touched his temples and her hot lips pressed against the crown of his head. He felt a sudden zephyr of enlightenment; her presence healed his broken heart.  
  
"I better go," Lila whispered and began to strut toward the door. This was not enough. He had to stop her.  
  
"What did you say to her?" he asked. Lila turned and pressed her back against the door,  
  
"Nothing special. Just the journalistic stuff I'm supposed to ask."  
  
"How did she respond?"  
  
"Rudely, proudly. She seemed angry and upset, very tense; I could sense that in her voice. She got a little taller, but she's still the same person."  
  
"Typical Helga," he grumbled, remembering the one eyebrow, unkempt ponytails and the wrinkled pink dress.  
  
"She's under a lot of pressure. It's not her fault."  
  
"No, it is her fault. This case is not made up, it's substantiated by reasonable evidence."  
  
"Neither is your hate for her. Arnold, you never hated anyone except for the two Patakis. While I may overlook your feelings for her father, I cannot help but feel remorse that you have unjustified emotions over her. She never did anything to you."  
  
Arnold looked at the ground yet again, this time to conceal something not only from Lila but himself. He felt hate for Helga because of something else, something deeper, more destructive and frightening than that. He did not know what it was, and he didn't want to care. He could not help himself; he cared. He cared very much.  
  
"I don't see why you are so concerned. I don't hate her, at least anymore. Last time I've seen her was eleven years ago. We were both seventeen. As a matter of fact, last time I saw her, she hated me as much as I hated her."  
  
"And if you saw her on the street..."  
  
"I would act professional, approach her, and introduce myself. I'd like to see her reaction to the fact that I'm not bitter about what happened."  
  
"What did happen, on that night, what happened between the two of you?"  
  
"Nothing," he replied, "Nothing worth remembering."  
  
Lila nodded disapprovingly, "In that case, I'll see you later, Arnold."  
  
As he watched her leave, he could not help but overlook the poise and chic she represented. He his love for her was enormous, which, he knew, was greater than that of Jonathan's. With melancholy and despair, he rose and exited the office. 


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter 2  
  
  
  
What would he do if he saw Helga on the street? Arnold did not feel the need to ponder on such an unlikely situation. He now wished he had. What was the root of this problem? What troubled sweet Arnold most? He could hide in the crowd, mask his face with his hands, he could switch directions of his path or duck into the nearest store. He did not have to speak with her, yet somehow, he couldn't live with himself if he didn't.  
  
She'd changed. She was an adult, a woman, no longer an ignorant girl but a woman. He had seen her last when she was seventeen. The light penetrated through the window and illuminated her face. It made her eyes glow, as the crystals of incoming tears decorated the interior of the two stars. He loved her eyes, they had a strange sort of significance to him, a power to make him yield, to forget all rationality and give up everything for her. Even his hate could not overshadow the passion he felt for her eyes. And there they were, still sparkling, still enchanting, surveying him from a distance of a meter.  
  
"Arnold," she said calmly as she made her way through the current of pedestrians. Her voice was deep and rich, like caramel, and it rubbed against his earlobe in a strange collaboration of inflicting both, pain and pleasure.  
  
"Helga," he weakly smiled, surveying her frame. She did get taller, but, in truth, little of her appearance had changed. Her face was still youthful, still annoyed, still uninhibited. Her lower lip curved when she was surprised and her bushy eyebrows elevated when she spoke. Watching every movement, every detail of her harsh yet tender visage made him tremble. He wanted to free himself of the past, but before him stood an obstacle, an expertly crafted, overly realistic effigy of what he had left behind.  
  
"It's been a long time," she smiled, "Who would have thought that our paths would cross yet again."  
  
"Not I," he replied heavily, "The last words you've said to me were, as I remember, 'I never want to see you or this dirty, forsaken town again.'"  
  
"Will you be reminding me of the things I've said in high school on a regular basis now?" Helga snickered comically.  
  
"Will there be a regular basis?" he inquired in the same tone.  
  
"Fat chance, Football Head," she joked in her childhood innuendo.  
  
"Now you're beginning to sound like the old Helga."  
  
"Old Helga?" she studied him, "What was Old Helga like?"  
  
"An angry, sad girl, who called me names and claimed she hated me."  
  
She laughed in her malicious laughter, the same ringing sound he had heard occasionally, though not often, as a child, "I'm still the same Helga."  
  
Arnold gazed deeply into her clear blue eyes, "Why are you sad?"  
  
She did not reply.  
  
"So, where are you going now?" he asked, trying to find a casual disruption from the previous question.  
  
"I'm going to do lunch with some associates," she replied diplomatically, "I would invite you, but you understand."  
  
"No," he paused, "I don't."  
  
She looked down and then back up again. Her face had transitioned, her facial features became cold, and her eyes were filled with cleverly hidden, but undeniable, rage.  
  
"Arnold," she said harshly, "This isn't a high school reunion, you know that. Someone is trying to destroy everything I have ever worked for, and I am not intending to let them. I will crush that someone with all my force and connections, I will ruin their career and their life, I will bankrupt them, bury them alive. I am capable and willing, and nothing will stop me until my mission is complete. When they beg for my forgiveness, I will laugh in their face. I'll destroy that someone, for trying to destroy me. Arnold, that someone is you. Prepare your troops for war, and practice your defeat speech."  
  
She turned and began walking away, as he curiously watched over the way she moved, the way she portrayed herself. It was a frightening sight, that familiarity that she beheld. It gnawed on him from the inside. Eleven years ago, Arnold had left behind a skill to understand people. Naively, boldly, arrogantly, he never thought he would need to use the faculty on himself.  
  
He watched her walk, it was the walk of a powerful woman, the walk of someone who had seen plenty in their life, who had achieved plenty. For a moment, he felt a streak of admiration and good will for Helga G Pataki, but immediately, his good graces were overshadowed by what had been stamped on paper.  
  
After all, a lawsuit had been pending, people have bee hurt. Her weapons had been lethal, her attitudes were not at all graceful. How could she, this ugly duckling with a heart of steel, ever compare a to beautiful Lila, Lila, with her glory and grace and femininity and. Suddenly it struck him. When Lila walked, she walked like a woman. When Helga walked, she walked like a man. Perhaps that was why she used the tactics that she used, those disgraceful, horrible tactics. It was more socially acceptable for a man to commit crimes than for a woman. It was about testosterone, a normal female being could never possess such innovation. This made Helga abnormal, this made Helga equivalent to a man. That was what she was, a man with a vagina. Interesting, perhaps somewhat explanatory of the antipathy he felt. Arnold always did dislike other members of his sex. But surely, this was not the full, encyclopedic version of a psychoanalysis. Something else was pending within him, a feeling of unfinished business. After all, Helga had a vagina.  
  
To clarify this reasoning, Arnold had to admit that in his life, for the past eleven years, at least, he never learned to care for people, to truly see people, truly appreciate them. In the male sex he saw enemies, in the female sex, he saw sex. For men, he felt hate. For women, he felt lust. Helga seemed to embody both sides. When hate mingled with lust, an extraordinary explosion occurred, a chemical reaction, an atomic bomb. Worse than that, it was a destructive force, the most powerful, the most convincing, in the world. Even his passion for Lila could not compare to the feeling that he felt against and for Helga. Manhood pride was at stake, Arnold did not toy with these realizations.  
  
Finally, in the nick of time, just as her pink silhouette disappeared beneath the gray tints of other people, Arnold decided on his plan of action, on his revenge. This would come against Big Bob and his little daughter, a plot thought out to the core.  
  
Even when she was a child, Helga was always seeking her father's approval. Arnold saw the misery within her, and, at times, even attempted to rectify her tortures. He saw in Big Bob's eyes, that deep within, he loved his daughter. He was inadequate in showing it, but he had always prided in her character, wit, and independence, very much similar to his own persona. He had two loves in his life, his business and his family. After Miriam divorced him and moved to Texas in order to pursue a riding career, after Olga had declared she was an alcoholic lesbian who hated him since birth for making her live up to highest expectations and disappeared in Europe with her lover, he had left only Helga. Helga, who made his dreams flourish, who turned his company into a landmark. Helga, who made him the happiest man and father alive.  
  
After winning his case against BBB, Arnold would shatter Bob's business. After using Helga and leaving her brokenhearted, Arnold would shatter Bob's daughter. This was peachy, and made to succeed. He saw it in her walk, in her eyes, on her lips. He saw it everywhere. It's been a while since Helga was courted, and even longer since Helga was fucked. This was going to be easy. Within a week (with other girls it was a day, but he had to give a worthy adversary a tad of respect) he would find himself trashing Helga's phone number just like Rhonda's, Nadine's, Ruth's, Forgot Her Name's, etc.  
  
  
  
"Yes," Helga looked across the table at her lawyer, "I understand what you are saying to me, but there is absolutely no way that I would let him have the damn settlement."  
  
"Look, Helga," Phoebe frowned, "You don't understand, he's not offering you a settlement. We're far beyond that. He demands that you are stripped and fined and sued, and.."  
  
"What's your point?"  
  
"Look," Phoebe sighed, "The Company will not survive, this is something you will need to accept before we even go into that battle next week. We're trying to save you. Your ass is on the line, and unless you're willing to face twenty to life, I suggest that you quit while you're not too far behind. FBH Inc. is the type of firm that doesn't give up until the milk the cow for all it's worth."  
  
Helga studied her childhood friends and present attorney's face, "Oh my God!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You've been sleeping with Gerald again, haven't you?" She said in a disdainful, but caring voice.  
  
Phoebe blushed. She was very pretty, with sparkling eyes and thick, long, brown hair. She was petite, with the perfect hourglass figure that every woman in her right mind desired, complimented well by slimming power suits. Phoebe was one of a kind, the second most feared woman in business, next to her associate Helga. However, with men there was a different story. Countless times her heart was broken, but she always came back, she always forgave. Helga did not understand this concept. In her world, if someone hurt her, that someone would have to die.  
  
"Phoebes, why do you do this to yourself?"  
  
"Do what?" she asked innocently.  
  
"The man cheats on you, calls you a whore, tells you he doesn't want to be in a relationship, but you continue chasing after him like he's damn James Bond. You know I care about you."  
  
"Let me live my life the way I want to live my life."  
  
"Honey, go ahead and live, just don't live old mistakes over and over again."  
  
"That shouldn't matter to you, my personal life does not affect yours."  
  
"I don't want to have to listen to you weep over the phone about something that you knew would come from the very beginning," Helga debated.  
  
"I don't think that's why. I think it's because he's Arnold's best friend."  
  
"What does Arnold have to do with you being a retard when it comes to relationships?"  
  
Phoebe stared at her with rage, "I think it's because you're still not over him, and that's why you can't bear hearing that he wants to destroy you."  
  
"Oh what the fuck? How did we shift to this conversation all of a sudden?" Helga exclaimed angrily.  
  
"I make mistakes?" Phoebe screamed in return with her little voice, making a few people turn their heads, "At least the mistakes I make affect only myself. I don't hurt people when I make mistakes, Helga. You do! And I am not saying this as either a lawyer or a friend, just as a normal person: you deserve what it happening to you! I hope you wound up rotting in jail!"  
  
"Oh great!" Helga returned sarcastically, "I guess that really elevates you above me. So go, take your cell phone click the little clickers, fuck your little boyfriend, and catch him doing it with a blonde on the office table! I hope you enjoy not hurting others. Have a nice lunch, you little masochist!"  
  
Helga walked out on Phoebe, on years of friendship, it all ended just like that. Her only friend in this world, her only available connection besides her father was gone. Helga walked the streets with a stoical _expression on her face, but by the time she reached her penthouse hotel room, she could not help but fall to her knees and cry.  
  
  
  
High school was over, but Helga was still the same. Dressed in her little pink frock, with the ponytails and the one eyebrow. In her car was packed a suitcase, she had bid farewell to her family hours ago, and spent the day driving through the city, looking at old streets, remembering, and knowing that she needed to speak with Arnold.  
  
It was not her fault that her father had decided to build his store on the property of Arnold's boarding house. However, she, and Arnold, blamed herself. This was wrong of him. This was unholy. But, nonetheless, Arnold was an angel in her perspective. Not only that, he was also her object of affection since kindergarten. No, she could not leave the town without saying goodbye, without admitting her feelings. This may have been her last chance in a long time, possibly forever.  
  
She had found out that he was staying at a hotel downtown, and was nervously driving her car through the drizzle of the immortal day. Perhaps he would forgive her, perhaps they could keep in close correspondence, perhaps. Only the highest of achievers dreamed to dream, after all. Helga liked to think of herself as one.  
  
She came up to the front desk and asked the secretary to ring his room and ask him to come down. Helga was too afraid to encounter Arnold's grandparents. Her father had, after all, wrecked their way of life. She was afraid of being shunned.  
  
It took a while before he came down, but he came. She knew he was battling with two opposing forces. She knew that he had no reason to hate her, but hated her just the same. She knew.  
  
"What do you have to say?" he said coldly, with a disdainful impression on his face, "Go on, make it quick."  
  
Helga looked around uncomfortably, "Can we please go outside? I cannot talk in here."  
  
Without saying a word, Arnold began to walk out of the hotel and Helga scurried to catch up with him. Presently, they stood in the middle of the dark street, illuminated by the stores and streetlights, the colors of the night. Helga looked beautiful in this light, this Arnold could not deny. But her beauty irritated him, while he was pale and troubled, she was youthful and becoming. This was not the proper way it was supposed to be, the proper way was vice versa.  
  
"Go ahead," he said, trying to avoid her watery, wide, extraordinary eyes that softened his actions.  
  
"This is very difficult for me to say," Helga stumbled.  
  
"Well try harder, I am giving you a minute."  
  
Helga looked at the ground and back at him once more, "I know about the boarding house, Arnold. I care."  
  
"You care?" he said sarcastically, "This was not very difficult, or earnest, for that matter. What do you mean by that?"  
  
"My father did a terrible thing, Arnold," Helga continued, "I had no control over him, I cold not stop him. You have to understand."  
  
"Why are you here? My life has nothing to do with yours."  
  
Helga sighed, afraid she would break into tears at the absurdity of his statement, if only he knew, "But Arnold, your life."  
  
"Is just that, MY life! Please, stop it and leave. I don't want to have this conversation with you."  
  
"But Arnold, you don't understand!"  
  
"Understand what? What, Helga? Tell me, please, make it clear so I could understand. Why have you come here?"  
  
"I came to apologize for my father, Arnold!" She screamed back, catching him a little by surprise, "because I know that he will never apologize on his own, and you deserve an apology."  
  
"Helga, we don't need your apology, we don't need your words. What do the words have to do with us? How can they affect us? Who the hell are you at all to think that we need your apology?" he was speaking harshly, cutting Helga to the bone, "Bob is a brute, an uneducated, barbaric, cruel, despicable man."  
  
Helga could not believe it, the man she loved was insulting her own father in a beastly manner. She was torn, with whom would she side? Bob had his faults, but he was, after all, her father. And Arnold, oh Arnold! Her mind began to race, she did not know how to respond. Her silence triggered Arnold to continue, to spill all the rage he had within onto her, even though, inwardly, he knew and was afraid to admit that she did not deserve it. He wanted to say to her all the things he never dared to say to Bob.  
  
"And you, Helga, you are even less than that. You have no business coming here, you're nobody. Just the daughter of a bastard, of the brute, uneducated."  
  
And suddenly, she kissed him, and he pondered her action for a moment, as his lips began to move along hers, melting into a sensation of queerness, unfathomed feeling, miscomprehension, all before he violently pushed her away as her skinny body swayed a meter across the concrete boulevard.  
  
This rejection did not stop Helga, she fell to her knees, hugging his legs in a strange manner, pleading temporarily insanity, and mumbling pathetic words he could not understand under her breath. His first instinct was to sweep her up, put her in his grasp, hold on to her, kiss those tears away and cry apologies for hurting her the way that he did. But hate overfilled his lungs, and he followed the gruesome feeling in the pit of his stomach, as it drew him to begin moving away, as the tender skin on her knee scraped against the ground and he saw specks of blood descend upon it. Oh how he wanted to nurse that wound, all the while conflicting to hurt her, to move faster, deepen the cut. Cruelty got the best of him as he ripped her weak hands off his ankles, pushed her down onto the ground and looked at her in disgust.  
  
Helga quickly got to her feet, a strange sort feeling arose within her, an unrecognized, unfathomed emotion she had never felt before for anyone. As she stood in his sight, bruised, heartbroken, insulted, abused, she felt her spinal cord collapse, as she felt faint. Weakly, she stumbled against a wall that kept her up, not once leaving her beloved's gaze. This was it, the last time she would ever see him again. All was said and done, and that was his true nature. He was not an angel but a devil. Oh how it pained her to understand that all her life she spent loving, obsessing over, a man who did not exist. Life lost all meaning to her, and suddenly, she was avid to leave this town, leave this planet, and start another life elsewhere, start a life anew, and never make the same mistake again.  
  
Arnold studied her face. That weakness, that feebleness. He suddenly became as disgusted with himself as he was with her. He had assaulted a crying soul; that was wrong, that was cruel. Men did not hit women, he was not a man. Oh but there was something more about that disgust, he felt as if he was throwing away something. It wasn't about his manly pride, it was that in hitting her he shattered some sort of possibility, some mysterious force that she used to feed him with. He could not understand the feelings that he felt for Helga, and that made him hate her even more. But something. damn it, there was something. Rain began to pour, as it drained her clothes, her hair, her skin. He wanted to shelter her, while simultaneously conspiring to strip her of all protection.  
  
"Go home," he said at last, trying to forget what had just happened, "get some sleep. I'm sure that by tomorrow you'll be good as new, bumping into me and insulting me the way you always have."  
  
She stared at him, awe stricken, not responding for a moment, only pondering his face. How could she have been so mistaken? For so many years, too.  
  
She snapped out of her meditation suddenly and considered his remark, "No," she said, "It's never going to be that way again. I'm leaving for college tonight, and I'm not coming back."  
  
Arnold could not believe the sudden burst he felt within, the pain in his chest, the longing to hold her and keep her and never let her get away, but he confined all that, hid it, and smuggled it into the air with a simple, "Oh."  
  
Helga stared into his face, her eyes no longer watery, but strong, determined, enthralling. She looked at him and penetrated him, as her lips quivered and her body shook under the rain. She knew that in the past five minutes she had grown more than in the last seventeen years. And that gave her a mixed sort of feeling.  
  
"Let me humor you, Arnold," she said softly, "I'm getting out of here, and I'm becoming something more than just the 'daughter of a bastard.' And I don't care what you think about me, not anymore. I know that many years down the road, you are going to offer me your apology, and I will treat you on that lovely afternoon the same way that you treat me now. But I'm not looking forward to that day. Quite frankly, and this wish is very improbable, but I can dream nonetheless," she sighed, "I never want to see you, or this dirty, forsaken town ever again."  
  
She quickly turned and began walking away. As her shadow became smaller and smaller, more invisible to determine, more obscure and irrational, as this occurred, Arnold could not help but wonder. Was it really the rain that accounted for the dismal moisture that he felt running along his lower eyelid.  
  
  
  
Did Arnold hate Helga because she was the female male? The man with the vagina? Or, perhaps, did the true root of his feelings emerge on that night, when she left him for an eternity, confused and abandoned, shivering under the pouring rain, eleven years ago?  
  
  
  
Helga drank her eleventh dry martini of the evening and slowly passed out on the bed. Life had dwindled down to representing only a series of conflicts and collisions, and she felt as if her weak, thin shoulders would not be able to carry the burden for much longer. She secretly hoped she'd die of alcohol poisoning. Instead, she was afflicted by a terrible hangover the next morning. 


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter 3  
  
Helga walked through the museum, studying the rough, bold brush strokes, as colors merged into one, as they played against the stanzas, as they collided into masterful creations, and bled against the canvas. The beauty of Van Gogh, of Picasso, of Dali and Magritte, of their great accomplishments reflected in the light and cleverly became inflicted on Helga's retina as she moved in a slow pace across the many isles. Some pictures made her feel inspired, some made her feel dull, others aroused her, few disturbed her. All the while, as these emotions merged into one, that of excitement, Helga did not, even for a moment, experience surprise. And then she felt someone's hand against her shoulder.  
  
She quickly turned, instinctively swaying her hand to protect herself, and hitting Arnold against the chest.  
  
"Well," he said sarcastically, "you be careful with that routine of yours, someone might get hurt."  
  
"No one who doesn't deserve it," she replied coldly and turned to Narcissism by Dali.  
  
"You like that?" Arnold said, trying to draw his prey into a trap.  
  
"I do," she said and continued moving down the surrealism section.  
  
He scurried after her, struggling to catch up.  
  
Helga felt his gaze upon her and it made her feel strange, a burst of emotion, an antipathy mixed with interest.  
  
"Can I ask you a question?" she said.  
  
"Go ahead," Arnold replied.  
  
"Why are you following me across the museum?"  
  
"I'm not, we just happen to be looking at the same paintings."  
  
"Why are you here?" she asked.  
  
"I love art, the world is a canvas." The real reason was that after calling her temporary secretary, with whom he had an affair a while back, she drew to his attention that her employer would most likely be found at the art museum. Helga liked art, an interesting realization about a seemingly ruthless curmudgeon. Perhaps he could use it as a weakness against his sullen enemy. "People are canvasses too," he continued after she did not reply.  
  
"I agree with you," she turned toward him, and he felt exposed under the light of her pale eyes, "only some are empty canvasses, surrounded by too luxurious of a frame."  
  
He smiled at her; something interesting was pending within. Helga had always been an intriguing person, which was perhaps why he so disliked her.  
  
"Surrealism," he sighed, looking at a picture where a train was coming out of a fireplace, "you spend so much time here. Why do you love it so much?"  
  
Helga sighed, wondering what his intentions were, "because it's so mysterious, so original. It takes a while to understand, but when you do, you feel a renowned sense of accomplishment."  
  
"Does that resemble you?" he asked, trying to follow her train of thought.  
  
"I love surrealism not because it resembles me, but because I wish it did."  
  
"I thought you loved it because you've got nothing else in this world to love," he said without thinking. Suddenly, he realized that he had just jeopardized further his chance of seducing Helga.  
  
"Is that why you love art?" Helga launched her counterattack, "because you have no one human to adore?"  
  
Arnold considered it for a moment; "I'd like to adore you."  
  
She studied his face, almost falling for the last remark, but she wasn't going to make the same mistake again. Helga turned around and began walking faster, trying to get away.  
  
"Where are you going?" he exclaimed from the distance, as she spend across the parquet.  
  
"I'm going to lunch, and then. I don't know," she replied hastily.  
  
At last, he caught up, "Would you like some company?"  
  
"Yes," she replied quickly, "Just not yours."  
  
Arnold looked to the side, where the workers had already begun working on the decorations for the evenings festivities, a celebration for the arrival of a new painting from Russia's collection by Mark Chagall.  
  
"Will you be here tonight?" he asked, "for the party?"  
  
"Everyone will be here tonight for the party," Helga replied, "I just hope you're not."  
  
She began speeding away and Arnold did not follow. He would have plenty of chance that evening. Meanwhile, he remembered that it was Saturday, on of those glorious days of the week when the cleaning ladies came to his home.  
  
Many had gone through Arnold's apartment, very many, too many to count. Arnold would seduce them and then release them, awaiting a new offering on a silver platter. It was very easy for him, very engaging, entertaining, and always cheerful. He could disconnect for a moment, knowing that for what he'd paid he was getting double benefits. Sleeping with his numerous maids, of course, was never taxing or difficult, which was a blow since he enjoyed challenges, but nonetheless fulfilling and even surprising sometimes. The last maid he had fired was a tempestuous, dominant redhead, with lenience to bisexuality and his landlord's daughter. Of course, after the strange orgy took place, Arnold's rent was doubled and his good relationship with the management was severed for an eternity. Of course, Arnold had always enjoyed the volume privileges going awry. It gave him new challenges to contemplate as to how he would get his liberties returned.  
  
Lola had been working for him for over a month now, and not a single day passed without him making a lewd comment of placing his palm on whatever sacred female body part his avid heart desired. The busty, green eyed brunette who must have been at least ten years younger than him seemed to have been enjoying his come ons, or so it seemed apparent through her jubilant giggles and panting pleading for him to stop. Nevertheless, she never showed interest in going further than mild flirtation.  
  
Today, she was looking particularly lovely, with her thick hair in a high pony tail, her body wrapped in a green, low cut t shirt and tight jeans. This was her working attire, but it seemed to Arnold that climbing ladders to the top of his bookshelves was not easily done in the sort of pants that seemed far too undersized for her bottom.  
  
While Lola was cleaning, Arnold lay on the bed, surveying the young girl's physique as she worked and thinking naughty thoughts involving it. Considering his stress and frustration today had to be the day, it absolutely had to. He could already picture her hair in disarray, her face grimacing in an adorable but amusing way as they made the bed explode, as they made the ceiling fall over their heads, but miss due to their invincibility.  
  
"Hey Lola," he said in a voice one would use when communicating with a child, although partially relevant, "are you having fun?"  
  
"I'm working," she said, "Do people have fun at work?"  
  
"Well, darling," he smiled, looking up at the ceiling from his supine position, "That depends on the person. I, for example, do."  
  
"Well," she sighed and began dusting the bedpost, as her hips swayed from side to side with a melody she played in her head, "It's all different for you. You get to sit all day telling people what to do."  
  
"That's true, Lola," he continued, "but you have the same opportunities as I, don't you?"  
  
"Well I do go to college," she replied, "but I'm not from some rich, privileged family like you."  
  
Arnold sighed, remembering his 'rich, privileged family.' "What makes you so sure I'm rich?"  
  
"Well, your apartment, for one. How can a person who isn't from some millionaire breed get this high in this world?"  
  
"Stranger things have happened."  
  
"Look, if I offended you or something, I'm really sorry. But, like, let's not start these meaningful conversations."  
  
"You wouldn't like to have meaningful conversations with me, Ally?"  
  
"Well, you're my boss," she started reasoning, "I don't think it's proper to talk with your boss about his family and background."  
  
"You wouldn't like to be the one to rescue me, Ally?" he said only half sarcastically, "most women do. Who knows, perhaps you'd be the one to succeed."  
  
"Unfortunately, I have too many problems of my own to extend charity."  
  
"You need charity yourself, then?"  
  
"Maybe I do," she said slowly, "You're endowed to give it."  
  
"Yes," he smiled, "I'm very well endowed."  
  
"Ew!" she exclaimed in her girlish voice, "I didn't mean it that way!"  
  
"What way did you mean it, my nymphet? What charity can I render you in exchange for your own?"  
  
"Not grabbing my ass every five minutes, first of all. Your nymphet or whatever wouldn't mind getting a raise. And maybe even some benefits!"  
  
"And in return, will you sleep with me?"  
  
She quickly turned and saw that he had been creeping up behind her. Surprised and appalled, Lola slapped him; "You have no right doing this! This is sexual harassment."  
  
Arnold lay back on the bed. "Oh darling," he began "you're right, I was raised a prick. I think like a prick. I act like a prick. But then again, so would any man had they been like me, from a rich privileged family, that is. I can't control something I've known my whole life. I'm a lost case as a person, Lola."  
  
Her face softened as she leaned by him and her chest pressed against his arm. Arnold barely stopped himself from singing in triumph. She fell for the same line he had given virtually every other woman he had ever been with. It seemed, he thought, that in the female psyche, their self-esteem grew through the ceiling at the mere possibility that an emotionally unavailable man had been trying to let them in. It was like being the chosen one at a beauty pageant, like winning a poetry contest.  
  
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her hair brushing against his cheek from behind her head. He touched her face and kissed her, simultaneously sliding the shirt and bra off of Lola's body. Thirty minutes later, it was all over.  
  
After taking a shower, Arnold began to get dressed. Lola was still in his bed. He hated it when they stayed; he hated having to force her to leave.  
  
"I have to go now," he said.  
  
"Where?" she studied him as he put on his suit, which made Arnold look even more handsome.  
  
"This gala at the art museum. I don't want to be late."  
  
"Are you absolutely sure you have to go?" she asked, approaching him and putting her hands onto his shoulders.  
  
"Yes," he moved away, trying to get out of her reach.  
  
"I'll go home, then," she said, understanding that it was pointless to touch him when he was in this mood.  
  
He watched her get dressed with frenzy, wishing she would hurry up. When she was done, he sighed with relief.  
  
"Okay," she said before departing, "Here's my phone number, just in case you forgot," she handed him a paper, "You seem stressed. When you feel like talking, call me."  
  
He took it and looked into her searching eyes, every girl, no matter what their stature or esteem, always think they're special.  
  
"Yeah, okay. I'll see you next week, Lola," he said, knowing that it was a lie. Not once did his conscience trouble him.  
  
Arnold finished getting dressed in silence, not taking his mind off Helga, and the way she looked day resembling the way she looked eleven years ago. Maybe Helga was never meant to be beautiful, maybe when she walked the streets, the men did not turn her way like they did for Lila, Rhonda, and Lola. Maybe when she smiled, the room was not brightened, and when she spoke, birds did not sing along to the innuendo of her voice. Maybe Helga was never meant to be beautiful, and maybe that was okay because she was meant to be something else. Maybe, unlike every other woman, she did not long to save a man. Maybe she longed for a man to save her.  
  
And there was Arnold, plotting to endanger her. He felt disgusted with himself for a moment, but that did not stop him from imagining the words he'd say as he would lure his prey into a cave that very night. 


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four  
  
Arnold was fashionably late, however, Helga seemed to be even more in style. It had been well over an hour since the festivities began and she was nowhere in sight. This only bothered Arnold for fifteen minutes, only until Lila came through the door.  
  
She looked more beautiful than ever, with her dark green dress, tenderly hugging every curve, with her glistening eyes that looked larger, more profound tonight than he had ever seen them look before. She was, without a doubt, beautiful. Jonathan, clutching her side, knew it as well as Arnold, and he used the petite treasure next to him to full extent. He flaunted the green emerald as they strutted through the room, as the other guests awed and praised the happy couple. Only Arnold stood alone and sullen, as the ray of family values descended above him and burned irrepressibly into his skin. He suddenly realized how alike Lola's beauty was to Lila's. Did he transgress into that being? Did he have a taste for green-eyed brunettes because of the one that got away? This was frightening, that he was looking for love in all the wrong places, without even realizing that it, indeed, was love and not lust. Would Humbert constantly search for his Annabel Lee until he found Dolores Haze? And would his outcome with the said substitute take the same tragic farewell as that of Hum's Lolita? Arnold vowed never to invest in Nabokov again.  
  
He stood alone in gray tint, a hushed grim surrounded his body, barring him from the light. But then, the light came to him, it touched his wounds and nursed them back to health. Lila was that light.  
  
"Hello, Arnold." She said in her usual, well meaning tone, but it struck him to the core.  
  
"You look beautiful," he said, as his eyes hungrily fed in the image of her body, of what it must have been underneath of that dress.  
  
"You look good too," she said in a friendly tone, a sort of white lie one may say to anyone, "I haven't seen you in a while. Where have you been, partner?"  
  
"I've been kind of tied up."  
  
"Oh yes!" she laughed, "I can't forget the case. You know, I'm starting to feel ever so jealous of Helga Pataki. She has all your time now."  
  
"No, Lila," he smiled, "Helga is the last person you should be jealous of."  
  
"That was not neighborly of you!" she giggled, "I was just kidding."  
  
"How's Jonathan?" Arnold asked bitterly.  
  
"Oh he's ever so good, that man. He bought me these emerald earrings for our anniversary, When I saw them, I wanted to leap on him from the excitement."  
  
"Your love life is going well, then?"  
  
"Yes, Arnold," she replied, "It is. And can I inquire about yours?"  
  
Oh just the usual. I just happen to have been in love with a married woman ever since childhood, and today I slept with someone who looks just like her. Oh yeah, and I've been comparing my relationship with her to Lolita. Did I forget to mention that the woman is you?  
  
"Oh I just the usual."  
  
She nodded with a smile, "Oh, you! When are you going to get married already? I'd just love to be an aunt."  
  
"Aunt?" he asked in bewilderment.  
  
"Yeah!" she smiled, but when he did not understand she added, "You're like a brother to me, Arnold!"  
  
"Oh!" he said unenthusiastically, and without thinking continued, "In that case, I'd love to be an uncle."  
  
Lila's _expression stiffened for a moment. Arnold was thinking of a way to men his stupidity when Jonathan approached.  
  
"What are you two whispering about over here?" he asked. For the first time in his life, Arnold was thankful of his arrival.  
  
Lila's face turned bright once more, "We're just talking. That's what pals do, you know."  
  
"No," he laughed, "I don't."  
  
"Perhaps because you don't have any pals," Arnold said once more without consideration of the consequences. This was the second time that night. His evening was not going as well as he thought.  
  
A silence followed.  
  
"Well," Arnold said nervously, not because he was afraid of Jon's reaction, but because he feared Lila's, "I'll just go say hi to Gerald over there."  
  
"You go right ahead," Lila said awkwardly, "I'll see you later, okay?"  
  
"Yeah," Arnold nodded, "I'll just go now."  
  
He paced away towards his best friend. Gerald had always been there for him, and the two were inseparable. They had identical views on life, including their way with women, and both were eligible bachelors. Each had a special love in their life. Arnold had Lila and Gerald had Phoebe. The only difference was that Gerald had intercourse with Phoebe on every occasion and Arnold only occasionally dared to dream of intercourse with Lila. Despite this, both were ill fated. Arnold could not be with Lila because she was married. Gerald could not be with Phoebe because he was stupid.  
  
She had extended her heart to him on a silver platter, tightly packaged, with a pink bow on it. He was too afraid to take it, too blind to see that this was the way to happiness. Gerald was too unskilled to distinguish white gold from silver, too weak to handle a powerful woman. He wanted to control his perfect bride, and Phoebe would not give in. She had a strong mind and will, and never would she take orders from a man. Gerald hated that, and to spurn her, he started an affair with his secretary. When, at last, Phoebe found out about it, he wanted to shoot himself. That was what her existence signified in his life. Phoebe was the only fuel he had to keep going, and when he, with his manly pride, extinguished that fire, he at last understood the nature of his problems. Gerald knew nothing about the inner workings of women. He had, of course, been instructed in the outer physique, but this knowledge gave him little advantage on the singles market. When, at last, in her own stupidity, Phoebe gave him another chance, he cheated on her a day after. Following this, he knew that she would never take him back again.  
  
Well how dare she, that little woman, think that he, as a man, would take it? Oh no, she was not going to get away with breaking his heart. Of course, there was the little matter of him breaking hers, but he did not like to think about it. Somewhere in this crowd was his date. A tall blonde, with oversized breasts and an undersized brain, not to mention bra. He knew that when Phoebe saw her, she would feel that strange inferiority complex all gorgeous women feel when they see their lover (past lover, in his case) with an inferior. They glorify that inferior, as if she is some sort of goddess, as if they cannot see how much they have on her. Gerald derived a sick sort of pleasure from seeing such a reaction in Phoebe; that, and he longed that jealousy would drive her back into his arms. What fools men are indeed!  
  
"Hey Gerald," Arnold approached him.  
  
"Hey Arnold."  
  
This was their traditional greeting, derived from the good old days when they were nine-year-old children.  
  
"So, how are you doing? Is it anywhere near as good as the way I am?"  
  
"Oh, I'm about to explode," he said, "You look at Gemini over there, she looks extra hot tonight."  
  
"It's so funny," Arnold smiled, "that you're not even looking in her direction when you're saying it."  
  
Gerald's attentions have been overshadowed by the appearance of Phoebe, sweet, sophisticated, proportioned, Phoebe.  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"Man, how are you holding up?"  
  
Gerald sighed, turning back to his friend, "What can I say? She's driving me crazy. I got dressed to this party feeling like a man going into a fucking battle. I don't think I can handle it, it's too taxing. Women aren't supposed to be like that."  
  
"Oh no," Arnold winced, "women are supposed to be like that. That's the burden all men have to carry. If you screw up, they make you beg."  
  
"Arnold," Gerald said in a concerned tone, "what's been happening to you lately? Your perception of women really had changed lately."  
  
"No Gerald, trust me, it didn't."  
  
"Really? Prove it then."  
  
"I fucked my housekeeper. Then I threw out her phone number, and tomorrow, I'm going to fire her in the most anonymous way possible."  
  
Gerald opened his mouth; "You're kidding me! The hot one?"  
  
"Oh come on, they're all hot."  
  
"Arnold, this doesn't surprise me at all. But it doesn't prove anything anyway."  
  
Arnold smiled, "Do you think I need to prove something to you? You're the one standing here ogling over a doomed relationship when a model is standing meters away, just waiting for you to take her home."  
  
"Arnold, I think that maybe I have changed a little."  
  
"I don't think you've changed at all," Arnold sighed, "you just got used to having her around, always there, and now that she's not, you're a little bit confused."  
  
"No, I don't think that's it. I think I'm a little bit in love."  
  
His voice was sullen and depressing, and Arnold tried to elevate him, "Love? Gerald, what is love?"  
  
"What you feel for Lila."  
  
"And look how well that's going. If I were you, I would not be jumping into this love bullshit headfirst. If I were you, I'd wade around a little before torturing my own self. "  
  
Gerald sighed, "That's not the only thing I'm worried about, Arnold. I feel extremely guilty?"  
  
"Well," Arnold said, "You should. You cheated on her; that's how you're supposed to feel. I don't blame you, but she, as a woman, has every chance in the world to. Women are like that."  
  
Would Gerald be upset if Phoebe cheated on him? After two offensive outbursts of the evening Arnold was not willing to make yet another.  
  
"Yeah, man. But it's not just that."  
  
"What else?"  
  
"Well," Gerald sighed, "You know how she's really tight with Helga Pataki? Well, she called me crying and telling me that she had a fight with her over us. She was saying all these things, all I remember was that Helga disapproved of us seeing each other again because she didn't want me to hurt Phoebe again."  
  
Arnold looked down, thinking about Helga, Helga as a caring individual, as a woman of substance who was concerned with the well being of others. Helga.  
  
"She said," Gerald continued, "that the argument was so intense that she doesn't think Helga will ever forgive her. She said she chose her relationship with me over her friendship with Helga. And then, I go right ahead and wreck it. I go and do exactly the thing that Helga warned Phoebe about, breaking the trust that made Phoebe give up something very important. Arnold, I almost feel like a bad person."  
  
Arnold was contemplating the situation, he had many things to say to Gerald, things he would have said over a decade ago were pushing against his lips. But that wouldn't have been right. He had to preserve his macho image, at least until he avenged himself.  
  
As any supporting friend would have, Arnold remarked, "Almost," and directed his attention to the opposite wall at the precisely correct moment.  
  
There she stood, pale and precise, in a silk pink gown, with a strand of hair falling across her eye. She stood afraid and nervous, fiendishly watching her surroundings, wondering if she was being judged, if she was being distorted in their imagination.  
  
"Gerald," Arnold said quickly, "I'll see you later."  
  
"What? You see someone?"  
  
"I do," Arnold said, unattached, "I do."  
  
He made his way through the crowd towards her, and she gave him a laconic look in return once he approached.  
  
"Hello there," he said to her.  
  
"Hello," she said coldly, turning away.  
  
"Have you just come?"  
  
"No," she replied, not warming up, "I've been here all evening."  
  
"Are you having fun?"  
  
"Oh I just saw a pig fly."  
  
"That must have been interesting," he smiled, "where did it go?"  
  
She returned with a slight flicker on her lips, "I forgot to remember."  
  
"That's a pity," he studied her, "I wish I'd seen it. Then, I'd have seen everything."  
  
"Oh Arnold," she sighed, sipping champagne from the tall glass she was holding, "believe me, you haven't missed much."  
  
"I missed you," he suddenly put in, "I think it's just enough."  
  
Helga gulped down the remainder of her drink and with a snicker, chased after a caterer, leaving Arnold alone.  
  
After 'mingling' for a half-hour with random people, Arnold once again spotted Helga among the crowd. When he approached her, she studied him with a disoriented confusion.  
  
The girl looked at the floor and then back up again, "I need a cigarette."  
  
"I was just about to say the same thing."  
  
  
  
"You really think you're something, you know that?" Helga said as she inhaled the smoke and blew it out after they walked into the street and watched the cars passing by.  
  
"Really?" Arnold said, enjoying his cigarette as much as Helga, "What makes you say that?"  
  
"You think you could befriend me, and flatter me. But I know what you're up to, and there's no way I'm falling for that."  
  
"What am I up to?" he said solemnly, "clue me in on that."  
  
"Oh, don't start. You're horrible, you know that?"  
  
"Helga," he sighed, "How many drinks did you have?"  
  
"And you know what this feels like? Standing in the street like this? This feels like that thing all over again."  
  
"Helga, let's not remember that, I would apologize but"  
  
"But I told you not to," She finished, "You know, I don't hold that against you. You were mad and I was desperate. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have become the way that I've become. And I really love the way that I've become."  
  
"Okay," he said, awe struck but afraid to show it, "How many drinks was it?"  
  
"Arnold," she said, "I'm not bitter with you about that, I forgive you for that. What I hate you for id what you're trying to do to me. I understand it's your job, and all, you're making money. I can't be bitter with you about that either. But Arnold, you're corrupting my baby!"  
  
"You corrupted your baby all on your own, Helga. People like you shouldn't be allowed to have babies."  
  
She slapped him across the face and burst into laughter. His stone gaze settled upon her, and she felt frightened by his emotion for a second.  
  
"I'm sorry," she creaked, "it's just so funny how I always wanted to do that!"  
  
"Now we're even," he said softly and took her hand. "Let's get you back inside"  
  
"No!" She screamed, "I can't go back there in this condition."  
  
"Well, Helga, what are you planning to do then?"  
  
"I don't want to go back there," she said, and he noticed that her eyes were becoming watery, "I hate that place, and I hate those people. I hate FUCKING EVERYTHING!" she screamed the last bit at the sky.  
  
He looked into her face, not knowing what to look for. She was melting and he could have her right here on the street if he wanted. But that wouldn't have been honorable, that wouldn't have been challenging, that wouldn't have been fair. She began moving away.  
  
"Where are you going?" he asked.  
  
"I'm going home."  
  
"Are you sure you can drive in this condition?"  
  
"No," she sniffed, "I came with an associate, she drove. So I guess I'll just walk." She had many, many drinks that night.  
  
He sighed, "I'll drive you home. What hotel are you staying in?"  
  
"I don't remember."  
  
"Damn it, who's your associate?"  
  
She took a moment to think it over, "I don't remember."  
  
He sighed angrily, "So, what am I going to do with you?"  
  
"Oh I got it!" she gave the subject matter serious thought, "Let's go to your house!"  
  
While she giggled, Arnold could not believe her proposition. It would have been a good way to avenge himself if he had left her on this street alone, exposed to public degradation. But he had compassion, a little whim of compassion, leaving him no choice.  
  
"Hey," he said to the valet, "Go get my car." 


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter 5  
  
The party of cold-blooded rich souls that populated the city raged on for long after the disappearance of Arnold and Helga. No one noticed their departure, for all were too consumed by their own lives unfolding to notice the great dealings of another's. It was interesting from a spectator's perception to encounter these boundaries, to experience them, and to reflect. It was less taxing to learn from the mistakes of others, than through those of your own. But, of course, the lesson is better learned in person, and not through the countless whispers one encounters along the long isles of this stage we like to call Life.  
  
Lila was obsessing over what Arnold had said. She knew that, of course, he did not mean bad by it. Arnold was not capable of malice. But, of course, she could not help being reminded of her problems. She had, as a close friend, informed him of her infertility. The perfect couple, in the headlines, in the tabloids, but only a few heads knew the truth regarding their childlessness. Many had always wondered why two people who loved one another as much as Lila and Jonathan did had not conceived a baby. The questions were never answered. Only the good was shown to public. Lila did not want to receive the sympathies a typical barren couple encountered.  
  
"Oh, that poor girl. She's so pretty too. Horrid fate gets the best of them."  
  
"Jon had always wanted to be a dad. I guess you never can tell, can you?"  
  
"Lila would have made a good mother."  
  
"I saw him the other day, he seems to be holding up well, considering the disappointment he had to face."  
  
"Imagine not hearing the little footsteps against the floor. Nobody deserves that."  
  
"Let's go play some football in the park. Take your mind off this thing, eh?"  
  
"Darling, would you like to look after my son today? I have to run out for an appointment with my plastic surgeon."  
  
"How you holding up, man? You know, I was doing research for this article last night and I accidentally stumbled over this-"  
  
"Maybe you should seek marriage counseling."  
  
"-anyway the article said that-"  
  
"Lila, you know there's more to life than that. I mean, think, at least you won't ever have to find a homemade bong in the kitchen. Oh just a little joke, get it?"  
  
"-maybe you should get a dog."  
  
  
  
  
  
Gerald could not believe his eyes. One moment she was alone, and the next, Phoebe was holding onto the tuxedo of tall, masculine, dark eyed persona, smiling widely, and portraying what a good first date must have looked like from the side.  
  
He did not want to see it, he tried to dissuade himself of the impending possibility that the one he had betrayed could live on and not perish, not dry up. He did not dare to think about it. Unfortunately, now he had no choice.  
  
His eyes studied her as she whispered something into his ear, those cherry lips of hers that belonged only against HIS mouth and not the lobe of another. He watched the man part from her with a solid reluctance, and he watched Phoebe smile pleasurably as she checked her watch and walked toward the window to the balcony. Without any consideration of what he would do proceeding the movement, Gerald ran in her direction. He had to make her see him, he had to. He had to remind the woman he loved that he still existed.  
  
"Phoebe!" Gerald exclaimed forcefully as he followed her onto the terrace and cornered the frame as to not let her slip away.  
  
"What do you want now?" she asked, studying him angrily.  
  
"Who was that I just saw you with?"  
  
"That is none of your business!" she squealed in return trying to bypass him sternly.  
  
He grabbed her by the shoulders, roughly inhaling the smell of her hair, "I think it's my business when some bastard finds himself all over my girlfriend."  
  
"I'm not you girlfriend, Gerald," she said frustratingly, "Your girlfriend is Pamela Anderson over there. You go and help her out a little, okay? Cause she just asked me where the bathroom was."  
  
"Pamela Anderson? Let's talk about that Josh Hartnett of yours."  
  
"Gerald," she sighed, "This conversation is pointless, please, leave."  
  
"What? You think Josh is gonna give you something I can't?"  
  
"He will give me something you cannot."  
  
"What is that?" he screamed angrily, "Looks? Money? Darling, I've got it all."  
  
"He'll give me faith!" she ejaculated, "Looks and money are just side benefits. Looks and money are not enough for me."  
  
"I love you!" he exclaimed. She sighed, not surprised by his words, "That's not enough for me either."  
  
They stood in silence, draining the sight of one another as their faces merged into a blurry carnation against moonlight.  
  
"Phoebe?" a male voice spoke and Gerald turned to see his conquest's escort.  
  
"Yes, Lorenzo," she said demurely, her tone driving Gerald insane.  
  
"Well, hello there," he said to Gerald, "Friend of yours?" continued to Phoebe.  
  
"Lorenzo, this is Gerald, Gerald, this is Lorenzo," she said coldly, "Can you wait for me outside? I'll be there in a minute."  
  
"Yes," he said, "nice meeting you, man."  
  
Gerald nodded and watched Lorenzo walk away.  
  
"Gerald, I'm fine, don't you worry about that," she said as soon as her boyfriend disappeared, "you just take of yourself, okay?"  
  
"You're going home with this lunatic?" Gerald's tone was full of jealousy, as his blood boiled and warmed his heart.  
  
"That doesn't concern you, Gerald, not anymore."  
  
She began walking away.  
  
"Phoebe!" he exclaimed, trying to stop her.  
  
She stopped and turned his way, "What, Gerald? What?"  
  
He did not know what to say. He rotated one hundred eighty degrees and looked onto the far depths of the city, the lights and the romances.  
  
"Go to your date," she said softly, "I'm going home."  
  
He turned his head and watched her walk, as her back moved farther and farther from his. No, he couldn't let her go. She was the only good thing in his life, the only clean thing, the only pure thing, the only thing that could cure him, the only thing that could send him to heaven someday. And then he realized that she was not a thing. She was a person, with feelings and concerns and her life was not made only to signify something in his. She could move on, she could forget him, she could fall in love again, with someone else. She could fall in love with someone better, someone who would not make the same mistake he did. Life would go on, while he silently crumbled inside of his own self, as his body would cave in, into the dark depths of his soul. No, he couldn't let her go, he had to stop her.  
  
"Phoebe!" he turned and exclaimed into the distance, but by now she was already gone.  
  
Suddenly, Gerald felt depraved, and he needed to speak with someone who had the talent of reassurance. Arnold had to account for that someone. After all, even though his friend did not have the reputation of sensitivity, Gerald knew that deep within he possessed the talent of looking at the bright side of things and finding seemingly ridiculous but plausible solutions.  
  
Unfortunately, Arnold was nowhere in sight. Within a short distance, Gerald saw Lila. She stood alone, in a weak condition, looking dazed and confused.  
  
"Lila," he approached.  
  
"Yes?" she replied, stunned by his presence.  
  
"Have you seen Arnold?"  
  
"Not since the beginning, no. I think I saw him talking to Helga once, though."  
  
"Helga?" Gerald questioned, "Why would he be talking to her?"  
  
"The mind of a man works in mysterious ways."  
  
"What makes you say that?" Gerald said, struck by her tone, so very un-Lila- ish.  
  
"Look at my husband," she said, pointing to Jonathan who happened to be conversing, at the precise moment, with Gerald's date.  
  
"What about your husband?"  
  
"See that blonde he's talking to? He hates it ever so much when I talk to men, even Arnold he's jealous of. Meanwhile, he can easily, openly, flirt with a Pamela Anderson look alike in my very presence. Why are men such hypocrites."  
  
Gerald chuckled for a moment, "Lila, men aren't hypocrites, men are just stupid, and come on, with boobs like that (forgive my slang) any old bastard can go blind. That prevents them from seeing what they have already. He happens to have you, and he's really lucky."  
  
"Really?" she smiled.  
  
"Yes," Gerald replied, "because you are a very beautiful woman."  
  
Lila raised one eyebrow, "You think I'm beautiful?"  
  
"In a very platonic, non-sexual way: yes. I think you're extraordinarily beautiful."  
  
"Well, Gerald," she winked, "I can see us forming 'a very beautiful friendship.'"  
  
They grinned at one another, and Gerald called for a waiter to bring up some champagne.  
  
  
  
After a ten-minute ride involving Helga leaning against Arnold's shoulder in a disruptive fashion, the pair, at last, arrived at Arnold's loft. She stumbled in and her eyes lit up. Drunk Helga felt like a child in a candy store as she surveyed his elegant habitation. Of course, Arnold did not design it himself. She could tell immediately. Men did not have such feminine taste. But, of course, his apartment was that way for a reason. Environment was a major turn on for a woman, and the lighting in the penthouse was just right.  
  
Arnold studied her as she wandered through his rooms, as she ran her fingers along his finely crafted furniture. She attempted to display distaste, but could not succeed under his gaze. She then sat next to his artificial fireplace and tucked her legs under her bottom. Arnold walked towards her, not knowing what to do next.  
  
"So," he said, "we're at my 'house,' now what?"  
  
She thought for a moment, "Do you have any food?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Food. The kind you put in your mouth and chew."  
  
"You're hungry? At eleven o'clock in the evening, you're hungry?"  
  
She thought for another moment, "Yes."  
  
"Well," he smiled, "now that you say it, I can go for something myself."  
  
"Great!" She smiled, "what do you have?"  
  
"I have-" he paused, "I'll go check. Do you need anything else besides food?"  
  
"Water," She sighed.  
  
"Yeah, I figured."  
  
He began walking toward the kitchen.  
  
"Hey Arnold!" she suddenly said.  
  
He stopped and faced her.  
  
"What, Helga?"  
  
"Can I tell you a secret?"  
  
"Go ahead."  
  
"I think I had too much to drink. I think I'm drunk," she began giggling, "as a matter of fact, I've been drinking a lot lately. Hello, my name is Helga and I'm an alcoholic."  
  
This was followed by yet another wild fit of laughter.  
  
Arnold sighed and continued to the kitchen. Once in it, he felt a sudden beast arise within, and he pounded at the refrigerator door to confine it. What was happening? What was Helga doing to him? No, he could not sleep with her tonight. It was too dangerous, too wrong. Suddenly, he felt weak, and nausea overtook Arnold once he remembered that the hearing regarding the lawsuit would come the following week. What would happen if Helga were put in jail? He had to settle it, he had to conspire a settlement, he had to-  
  
What was he thinking? This was Helga, his enemy Helga, the daughter of the man who had destroyed his way of life. He could not allow his fascination with her to overtake it. He knew what she was after, even as she sat drunk in the living room. She came off as seeking sympathy, but what she really wanted was to enrapture him, to steal his heart and use it as a voodoo doll. He wasn't going to let her get away with it. He knew of Helga's past, he knew how she had become who she was. Helga G Pataki was not the good girl. Although she had not had sex in years, he could tell, she was the prime whore of the tri state area when her little business was only emerging. It would have been just ruthless enough for this woman to capture him in her endless soul. She was not going to get away with it. Damn it, he wasn't going to let her. He WAS going to have sex with her tonight just to prove to himself that he had not changed, just to prove that he did not love her. He poured himself a glass of brandy, and after quickly disposing of it down the drain of his throat, Arnold poured a glass of water for Helga and proceeded to examine his kitchen.  
  
Arnold came out of the kitchen with a tall glass of sparkling water, ready to inform her that all he had in the kitchen was a week's old Chinese take- out. When he saw her, stretched out on the Oriental rug, ready to fall asleep, he figured there was no longer need in telling her.  
  
"I'm not hungry anymore," she mumbled under her breath as he approached.  
  
"I can see that," he said and put the glass of water to her lips, she slowly took it in and swallowed.  
  
"I want to sleep," she announced, half dead, with her eyes closed and her body flailing.  
  
Arnold helped her get up, wrapping the long thin arms around his neck, and walked her to the guestroom. Once there, he quickly plopped her into a soft chair and proceeded to take the cover off the bed, revealing fresh silk bedsheets. He never entertained company, but had the room in good condition anyway, simply because it was part of his glorious apartment.  
  
After he was done, he walked over to the meditating Helga and once again prompted her up and toward the bed. He sat her onto it and studied her slumbering face. All hope of entertainment that he had for this night disappeared at the mere sight of her eyes, a drooping gaze into nothingness. He attempted to lay her down when suddenly she protested.  
  
"No," she cried, don't wrinkle my dress. He looked over her, talking in her sleep. Or was she? Perhaps she was more awake than ever. He preferred to comply with her requests.  
  
His hands went over her shoulders, as he slowly pulled down the straps, his fingers running along the edge of her smooth skin. The pink silk boldly cascaded down her cleavage line, revealing porcelain skin, a round, supple fruit of Satan hidden by beige, virginal lingerie. As he slid it further down, traveling with his avid paws along the gentle imprints of her body, he exposed her smooth belly. Helga closed her eyes, enjoying his touch upon her, quivering slightly. Meanwhile, Arnold continued sliding down her dress, over the matching silk panties, down the gentle curves of her thighs, against her tender knees, and over her thin ankles. Before long, Helga lay in her undergarments on the guest bed. Arnold quickly pulled the soft cover over he exposed body and looked with a strange sort of admiration onto her simple face.  
  
After placing the dress gently onto the chair, Arnold came back to Helga's side.  
  
"I'm going to go now," he said, "get some sleep."  
  
As he was getting up, she suddenly whispered, "Hey Arnold."  
  
He looked at her, "Yes, Helga?"  
  
Her eyes opened and she looked him in the eyes with a calm _expression on her face.  
  
"Can I tell you another secret?"  
  
"Go ahead," he replied heavily.  
  
"I love you," she said and closed he eyes, immediately falling asleep. 


	6. Chapter Six

Oh, did I forget to mention that all men are bastards? It's true, it really is. They're all bastards in their own little ways. They may not be bastards to you in particular, but trust me, there is a woman out there saying "all men are bastards" and referring to your father, boyfriend, son, etc.  
  
Okay, NOW I'll go.  
  
---But seriously though!  
  
Okay, going, going, gone!  
  
Chapter 6  
  
It may have been easy for Helga to fall asleep, but Arnold experienced a great deal of difficulty. He could not believe what had just happened, what she had just said. She must have been just mumbling; she must have been too drunk to understand what she was saying. She must have been! How else could one account for what was happening, for her saying the three words after a decade of parting?  
  
Arnold looked around for something, some sort of clue, some sort of assurance, something, but in his attempt he was unsuccessful. Helga was a mystery in his environment, and he could not believe that this mystery, this thrill of nervousness and confusion, could function as such a powerful aphrodisiac.  
  
All the while, as his blood boiled and his lips surged, he felt extraordinarily angry. He also felt afraid, nervous, as if she had just glued herself to him, and to dispose of her would mean to ruin his tailored suit. I love you; no one should have been stupid enough to say these words. Did she not understand that he was meant to be a free bird? That he did not appreciate her show of affection? What the hell was the matter with her, with this little bitch that thought she could reenter his life and start rearranging things?  
  
Love must have been unstoppable, and he didn't need someone to feel this for him. It was in Arnold's own experience the way of events in life, that once a woman fell into it with a man, once she had admitted it to herself and to him, she automatically felt as if she owned him. Well, Arnold didn't need to have Helga feel this way. Helga could never get the false message. After all, Arnold loved Lila, and he didn't need the woman that he hated to interfere with his affairs of the heart.  
  
It would have been much easier for him to put her in jail, to dispose of her behind bars, but if this happened, the case would be prolonged with numerous appeals and he would not be rid of her affliction. All the while, she would continue to love him, pardoning his misdemeanor as just being a professional approach. This was not the way out. He had to get her back lethally. He had to make her suffer; he had to take away from her the things most important for a woman, a woman like Helga, that is. He decided on his course of action. Arnold would not go to court, instead, he would face her with a last minute appeal that would ultimately bankrupt BBB, and one he'd done this, reject her and break her heart so that she would go back to New York hating him. It was not the most logic of approaches, but it seemed to be the most sensible and beneficial way out.  
  
But until he rejected her, until he made her sign the papers, (for there was still chance that she would wish to go to court) he had to lead her on. He had to make her believe that there was still chance for them, that she was still possibly his first love. He fell asleep with a sense of gratification that he had decided on a plan.  
  
Arnold specifically set his alarm clock so as to wake up before Helga did. The last thing that he wanted was for her to get up early and leave before he had the chance to speak with her about the previous night.  
  
This did not work. Arnold got up in the morning and quickly rushed out of bed. After getting dressed, he raced to his guestroom. She was no longer there.  
  
  
  
Helga closed her eyes, touching her forehead and groaning as the hangover ate away at her subconscious. She did not remember anything that had happened the previous night, particularly why she found herself in an unfamiliar apartment, showered with pictures of Arnold with models. She assumed this was his home, but that realization did not explain much. How had she gotten there, and worse yet, what had she done?  
  
Helga never did have the cure for hangovers and at the precise moment, she had a peculiar wish to kill herself for a few hours and then come back to life once again. This, of course, was impossible, so she decided to stay alive. Water, this she knew. Throwing up, another pleasant aspect. Of course, she felt gratification that it was Sunday, and she promised herself never to drink again. At the time, however, the pounding in Helga's head was not the only thing bothering her. Arnold, what had happened with Arnold?  
  
Suddenly, she heard a knock on her hotel room door, and she wanted to scream. With utmost difficulty, Helga made her way to the door, and once she had opened it, she began wishing that she hadn't.  
  
There he stood, wearing a strange _expression on his face, studying her as if she had overnight turned into a different person.  
  
"What do you want?" she asked charismatically.  
  
"What do you mean what do I want?"  
  
"Exactly what I just said. Why are you here?"  
  
"I'm here," he said, "because I want to know the truth, without all of your little games."  
  
"My little games?" she stared at him in bewilderment.  
  
"Look," he pushed himself in, "you don't do what you did last night and then go out and never expect me to speak to you again."  
  
She studied him with fear that raged like a mad beast within her bosom, "what did I do last night?"  
  
"That act of drunkenness, and then wanting to go to my home, and saying- what you said."  
  
"What had I said?" She asked.  
  
Arnold realized that Helga remembered nothing about the previous night. He did not know what to feel, relief or disappointment.  
  
"It doesn't matter, not anymore," he said softly.  
  
"Arnold, it matters to me," her hands began shaking, "what did I say to you last night?"  
  
He came into her comfort zone, their bodies almost tangible to one another, and Helga felt a kick in the pit of her stomach, which she never had experienced with other men. She was unsure what to make of it, of the dreadful silence, of his transfixing gaze that ate away at her heart. She felt lightheaded from the scent of his perfume, and her body suddenly became strong and unaffected, all signs of a hangover suddenly ceased.  
  
Arnold felt in control, he knew well how to seduce women, and Helga seemed to fall for it without question. He could see it in her eyes, in the way her locked cascaded up and down in combination with her chest. It felt good to have to make an effort again, to take her in his arms, instead of having to catch her as she cascaded there herself.  
  
Helga looked up, and without a thought, Arnold's lips went over hers. After adjusting to the surprise, Helga suddenly felt herself responding to his kiss, as her mouth drowned in his, as she fed him the sweetness of her tongue. Arnold could not believe how much he was enjoying this, her, wrapped in his arms, holding on in a tight grip and never letting go. He was excited by their momentary dislocation, as both parties gaped for breath quickly and then immediately returned to the previous action.  
  
Helga suddenly began moving forward, and Arnold quickly followed until he found his back pressed against a wall, as Helga spread her palms across it, encasing him in her bars of flesh, and going down the skin of his neck. Arnold's hands began traveling down to her skirt, as they picked it up and slid down her panties. Meanwhile, Helga had undone his belt buckle, exposing a very aroused organ of the male physique. He felt his masculinity arise from within, as he picked her up by the butt and let her wrap her long legs around his thighs. After doing so, Arnold spun Helga around and violently pressed her frame to the same wall, inserting himself roughly as she gasped, half in pain and half pleasurably, at the long forgotten feeling that raged deep inside.  
  
He began to roam, rubbing her skin against the concrete, throwing his head up, pulling it to her level once more and taking her lips into his mouth. Meanwhile, her legs pressed harder against the muscular thighs, as she held onto him with an unspeakable fear that this was unreal. And so it went, harder, faster, harder, softer, speeding up, harder, faster, even faster, harder, oh yes! The pair had climaxed simultaneously.  
  
They slid down the wall and Helga, once touching ground, put her head upon Arnold's shoulder and closed her eyes. This was followed by a giggle, as he took in her warmth, as he inhaled the scent of her hair. Arnold knew he had to leave, but even this raunchy lovemaking done without even getting properly unclothed and situating on a bed bound his soul to Helga unconditionally.  
  
He did not want to acknowledge it. What was happening to him? The room was filled with unspoken panting and silence beyond that. Arnold did not want to leave her, alone on the floor, and he feared this realization.  
  
Quickly and awkwardly, Arnold got up and rearranged himself and his disheveled clothing. Helga watched him from the floor as he reached into the suitcase he was carrying and handed her a folder.  
  
"I thought I might as well get it out of the way," he said in a matter-of- fact way.  
  
"What is it?" she said, studying its contents.  
  
"It's a settlement," he said, "a last minute settlement I think you may be interested in."  
  
Helga quickly jumped up and, now in a horizontal position, studied the documents more vigorously, "Settlement my ass!"  
  
"What are you talking about?" he said.  
  
"You think I'm stupid, Arnold?" she screamed, a look of disgust on her face, "This shit basically signs my company under the name of your firm."  
  
"You're lucky you're being offered a settlement at all," he said angrily.  
  
"Oh spare me that, please!" she began losing her temper, the old Helga emerging once again from underneath the covers of the temporary wasp.  
  
"Helga," he said, approaching her as she turned her back, "You should understand this. I'm only doing my job, this shouldn't interfere with-"  
  
"I'm a little confused, Arnold, isn't a settlement supposed to be beneficial or at least neutral to both sides of the conflict? Why do I only see your name here?"  
  
"Because, Helga!" he said, "I've already won. This is your best way out. If we go to court, if we present all of our evidence, you'll lose more than just your baby."  
  
"Arnold, what's the point of going to court if you've already mapped out for me an outcome? A gruesome, disrespectful outcome, for that matter."  
  
He sighed, "Helga, I don't want you to go to jail."  
  
She studied him in disbelief, "Why do you care?"  
  
He had to find a reason, "I care because I love you, and I want to marry you once the case is settled." This was a lie, he neither loved nor wished to marry her. Nevertheless, Arnold was determined to manipulate her into following his way.  
  
Helga was stumped, deep within, she knew she still loved Arnold. This was a prospect for her, this was a possibility to have her most eternal, most magical dream come true. With this proposition, he had proved that he had loved her back, that he had forgiven her, that he was choosing her above all others. How could she refuse? Simultaneously, how could she choose between her life's work and her live's passion?  
  
Helga had loved Arnold since the beginning of time, and only now did she understand that for the past eleven years, her love for him was not terminated but dormant. Now, it began to ravish once again, to open up its petals and to grown new and fascinating roots. Eleven years ago, she felt the simplistic fancy of a girl, now, she recognized the passionate love of a woman. Love was more important to her than money, and whatever life had taught her before was suddenly erased from her memories. Her mistakes were no longer mistakes, but coincidences, and his actions were no longer bad deeds, but accidents. Helga had decided to reinvent herself, and she would do this in the light of Arnold.  
  
"I'll need to speak to my lawyer," she said stiffly, "But I think I can say with utmost certainty that the answer would be yes."  
  
She smiled and the warmth of her radiance made Arnold's body quiver, he could still not believe the power that this woman held over him.  
  
Helga walked toward Arnold and kissed him quickly on the lips. He found himself tearing away with nervousness and reluctance.  
  
"I'm going to go now," he said.  
  
"Okay," she paused, "wait a moment, I'll be right back."  
  
She quickly skidded to her bedroom and came back out again.  
  
"Here," she said, handing Arnold her business card, "you can always reach me at my office. I don't like the stupid hotel phone anyway."  
  
Arnold studied the card, and then Helga's face, but did not take it.  
  
"I'll lose it," he said softly, "why don't you just call me?"  
  
She smiled, "Okay then," and then her face switched expressions and he realized how beautifully lit it was, despite the longing that had settled upon her shining eyes.  
  
Arnold took her chin in his hands and kissed her softly on the mouth. Their faces remained close to one another for a moment, until he abruptly pulled away.  
  
"I'll go now," he mumbled with pain and quickly let himself out the front door.  
  
Helga suddenly felt excitement gushing through her mind. This was amazing, she was getting married. Of course, in the process, she was going to lose the only representation of her youth's existence. Nevertheless, she was gaining something far more important than that. Happiness suddenly surged through Helga and she felt a strange need to share her good graces with another being. Without rush, she rushed to the phone and dialed a number.  
  
"Hello?" a still and proper feminine voice answered on the other side of the line.  
  
"Phoebes," she said softly, "it's Helga."  
  
A few blocks away, Arnold found himself battling against the autumn winds, as they surged at him with great speed. The trees in the alleys were turning yellow, and the sky was dark and somber. People who bypassed him were dressed in fall attire. Arnold began to mourn the coldness, his body began to shiver. After summer so easily transgressed into fall, he felt absolutely obligated to mourn it, the warmth, the long days, the fiery nights, all those wonderful moments that never seemed to matter until now, all those wonderful moments that he had left behind. Many summers had passed by in Arnold's life, but this particular one he brought dearer to himself than any others. He noticed this particular one, and he could not help but wonder if this aberration was related to her reappearance.  
  
"Helga G Pataki," he whispered ruefully, "what have you done to me?" 


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter 7  
  
"Helga," Phoebe's tone shook.  
  
"Phoebe."  
  
"Helga."  
  
"Phoebe."  
  
"Helga."  
  
"Okay, this is silly."  
  
Silence overtook the other side of the line.  
  
"Phoebe, I know that what I said that day must have been.---"  
  
"Don't" Phoebe sighed, "I know very well that you hate apologizing. I don't want to break you. I'd hate myself eternally for that."  
  
Helga listened to her friend's voice and, suddenly, her glee multiplied by thousands. Now, she was to have a husband and a companion. Life, compared to what it was yesterday, suddenly became good. It turned into a saga for the better and Helga, for the first time in her existence, felt optimistic about what was to come.  
  
"I hate the fact that we aren't talking," Helga said, her voice intensifying, "Because you're like a sister to me."  
  
"A weak, masochistic sister," Phoebe said wistfully, "You were right about Gerald, and you were right about me."  
  
Helga sighed, "Phoebe, you were just as right about me. It was wrong to do what I had done, my life's very achievements were not wholesome because I did not work for them. Only bona fide people earn any respect, any credit, for their work. I was causing people harm and I was proud of it. I was nothing short of a Sadist."  
  
"You were strong, Helga!" Phoebe exclaimed in a reassuring way, "You loved yourself and you provided for yourself. I wish I could be more like you."  
  
"A sadist," Helga mused, "is a masochist who treats other people the way they treat themselves."  
  
On the other side of town, Phoebe sat at her desk in the office, facing toward the window and looking through it with eagerness and comprehension. She felt gratified that, at last, she and her best friend were communicating. At last, she put her worries with Gerald behind her. Phoebe could not believe how free she felt now. It was absolutely unsurpassed of a feeling. For this, she was thankful to her truest of all companions.  
  
"Helga, don't say that. You know it's not true."  
  
She smiled, "not anymore. Phoebes, the reason I am calling is to tell you that I am getting married!"  
  
Phoebe's face froze and she dropped the cup of coffee she had been drinking onto the floor. The woman then proceeded to rise quickly from the chair and scurry toward the center of the room, only to make sure she was still breathing, and hell had not, in fact, frozen over.  
  
"Married?" she asked weakly, "but to whom?"  
  
"To a person whom I have loved since before I can remember."  
  
"Can you be a little bit more specific? Is he someone from New York? Because you didn't tell me you were dating."  
  
"No," Helga sighed, "it's no one from New York."  
  
"Is he from here, then?"  
  
"He is."  
  
"Then you must have just met him," Phoebe protested. "You've only been here a week, and we haven't spoken only for a few days. Can you really be ready to spend the rest of your life with a man you've known for forty eight hours?"  
  
"Oh, Phoebe, I've known him for forty eight million hours!"  
  
"Then tell me who it is, already!"  
  
"It's Arnold."  
  
Hell did not freeze over. Global warming occurred, led by the devil in the flesh.  
  
"What the hell are you talking about?" Phoebe screamed in a savage tone, "Are you crazy?"  
  
"I knew you were going to respond like this."  
  
"How else am I to respond? This is the way any normal person responds when their best friend tells them that she is marrying a guy who fucked and dumped the entire female population of the city. Helga, you're crazy. I know what you must be thinking, but you're crazy."  
  
Helga sighed, "He proposed to me."  
  
"Helga, he wants to fuck you, not marry you."  
  
"He already fucked me, Phoebe."  
  
What was his plan, then? Phoebe knew Arnold, and this was enough evidence to suffice for the fact that he wasn't getting hitched for the fun of it. What was his plan? What was he scheming? What sick form of revenge was he trying to take on her now?  
  
"I know you must think I'm being hypocritical after what happened with Gerald," Phoebe said, "But I want to tell you that you were right about him. And when I saw him on a date with a blonde in the same restaurant where he had just begged for my forgiveness, I was hurt beyond all comprehension. Helga, you always learn the hard way, you always learn through your mistakes. Please, just this once make an exception and learn from the mistakes of someone else."  
  
Helga did not know what to say. Her prelude with Arnold seemed too good to be true, and now, she was faced with the eternal promise of unconditional bliss and common sense. She did not know which she would choose, and this struck her as horror and anguish.  
  
After a moment of silence, Phoebe regained, "did he say anything else? Did he just come and propose?"  
  
"He came and--- well, he came. And then he said that he loved me and that he wanted to marry me after we settled."  
  
"Settled?" Phoebe asked suspiciously.  
  
"He wants to settle out of court, he doesn't want me to face---anyway, he gave me the papers before he left. I intend on signing them."  
  
"As your attorney, I demand that you show me the said papers before you sign anything. Otherwise, I will not cooperate."  
  
"Phoebe," Helga sighed, "I hate to say this to you, but let it come off on a professional level that my decision does not require your expertise, and the settlement is not designed for your input."  
  
The old Helga, the diplomatic and cold, was beginning to emerge. The problem was that she was emerging on the wrong person. Phoebe was not the enemy. Inwardly, Helga knew this, but her heart refused to believe what her mind screamed relentlessly from the distance.  
  
"Helga, as a friend, please allow me to look at the papers before you sign them."  
  
She tried to protest but Phoebe interrupted her.  
  
"If what Arnold is doing he is doing out of good faith, then I will believe you unconditionally, seal the deal with my highest approval, and act as your bridesmaid at the wedding. Helga, just let me check this out before you take any drastic steps. What is there to lose?"  
  
Helga sighed. She knew that to lose there was a great deal. At stake were her dreams, and Phoebe's cool rationale was diminishing Helga's deepest, most earnest fantasies. But she had a strong will power, and she was mistaken in Arnold once.  
  
"Let's meet for a late breakfast tomorrow," Helga said, "How about--- eleven?"  
  
"I'll be there."  
  
  
  
Lila studied Gerald's face, as they lay side by side on the bed in the nude, drinking in the sight of one another. She had plunged into a state she never before envisioned herself entering. She was cheating on her boyfriend, but then again, he was probably cheating on her. Gerald could not believe what he had done. For the first time in a long time, he did not think at all about Phoebe. She dwindled out of his heart as easily as she had dwindled in, and all this was due, he thought, to Lila. She was so beautiful, as she lay there, her soft, pale skin blushing, her hair rubbing against his arm. His muscles flexed at the thought of her lips, as they touched his with a clash and then harmonious reconciliation. She was everything a woman needed to be, beautiful, gentle, kind, and mysterious, with that bit of crazy wickedness, barely noticeable, but once unleashed, completely unrestrained, that every man loves about a woman. Lila was graceful, soft, feminine, almost as beautiful as Phoebe. Maybe she was exactly as beautiful as Phoebe, in her own unique way. But Gerald knew that even if she did not have the angelic face, he would feel the same longing for her that he felt at this very moment. All the while, he knew how wrong what he was doing was.  
  
Lila was betraying her husband. Gerald was betraying his best friend.  
  
But to hell with all of that! He knew that Lila was his second and last great love* and he was not willing to give it up. He had as much right for happiness as Arnold. Guilt rushed against Gerald with horrific malice, but he was not willing to give in.  
  
"We just did a very bad thing," Lila whispered, her soft breath touching his skin, "a very bad thing, a very wrong thing."  
  
Gerald sighed, "so wrong that it felt so right."  
  
"My husband would kill you if he found out."  
  
"I know how to defend myself against your husband, it's not him I'm worried about."  
  
Lila smiled, studying his eyes, "Who are you talking about?"  
  
Gerald contemplated on whether or not telling her would help the situation or hinder it, "I'm worried about Arnold."  
  
Lila's smile vanished and concern overtook her face, "I think I knew you were going to say that."  
  
Gerald stood up and walked to the window. Lila studied his silhouette against the current of impending light, which surged through the transparent glass.  
  
"He love you, Lila."  
  
She sighed and lay back, "I know, and that's a problem."  
  
Gerald turned with awe in his eyes, "That's a problem? Is that all you can say about the subject? Just that it's a problem?"  
  
She closed her eyes with concern, "I'm ever so sorry that I didn't make myself clear."  
  
"Well clear it up a little!"  
  
Lila sat up and wrapped her body in the bedsheet, "Arnold was not the first man to love me, but he is the first man that I love the way that I do. I always knew he had felt something for me, but I could not control what I felt. My heart was incapable of feeling anything but friendship toward him."  
  
"You were cruel to lead him on!"  
  
"I never led him on, Gerald! I was open with him and I provided myself in all entirety to listen when he needed someone there. I was there for him, Gerald, I played the part of the listener. I played the part of the wife, who was missing from Arnold's life, but that didn't mean I was planning to become it."  
  
"You never considered him at all, you never took a look into it, you never-- -tried to love him."  
  
"If I had tried to love him," Lila cried, "It wouldn't have been real. You refuse to believe the universal concept that a person can't just make their heart do something so things would be easier. Don't you understand?"  
  
"I cannot understand, I will not understand."  
  
Lila's eyes became watery, "I love Arnold very deeply, but not in the sense that I love you. I love Arnold like a brother, and I know that that hurts him a great deal, and whenever I hurt him, I feel three times the pain that he feels. It breaks my heart Gerald, but simultaneously I refuse to adjust my life for his sake. I have to think about my own happiness, and at first, John made me happy. But then I met you, and this is going too fast, but I am ready to divorce my husband and bind myself eternally to you."  
  
She jumped out of bed and ran his way, wrapping her frail arms around him and kissing him softly on the lips, "Understand, Gerald, understand, that I choose you over Arnold, and I have no obligation to fulfill. Neither have you. So choose, choose between me and him. I'm not the one making you choose, but he will be. I have already chosen, I have chosen you. Now, all I need is your decision."  
  
Gerald could not restrain himself, he took her chin and pressed his lips tightly onto hers, thus, making his decision and handing it into Lila's trembling hands.  
  
  
  
Phoebe studied the papers, amazed at how patronizing Arnold was. The man was insulting Helga's intelligence and she was happily consumed, letting him get away with it. The proposal was absolutely preposterous. No man or woman in their right mind would sign what he had sloppily typed onto paper. Helga was insane to even consider it.  
  
"You realize what he is asking for here, right?" she asked cynically and sipped her black coffee.  
  
"Phoebe, I know this may seem a little crazy---"  
  
"A little? He's basically saying hand over your company to my firm so we can sell it off and make the profit that you will immediately lose."  
  
Helga sighed, "Phoebe, what do I need profit for? Think about it, once I marry him, I'll be the happy housewife and all of the matters about my past will be resolved."  
  
"Helga, are you even sure he's willing to marry you? A man like Arnold is very capable of leading you on."  
  
"He's not leading me on," Helga said with determination, "I saw it in his eyes."  
  
"What did you see in his eyes?"  
  
"Truth."  
  
Phoebe looked at her friend sympathetically, "You never had to deal with these issues before in your life, I guess. You never got to figure out men, never got to choose between work and play. But let me tell you, in this situation, you had damn better choose work."  
  
"What? You want me to go to court and get sent to jail? Is that what you want?"  
  
Phoebe smiled, "Helga, you're not going to jail and you know it. You're the leader of a multibillion-dollar corporation. They have already designated some poor bastard to take the fall. The worst that could possibly happen is you serving five months in a white collar sanitarium. And when you come out, your 'baby' is still going to be there, and it is still going to belong to you."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"I'm talking about your decisions," Phoebe said coldly, "How are they influenced, Helga? What drives them? The fear of going to jail isn't it. Then, do you honestly believe that he is serious when he talks of marriage? He knows as well as I do that you will not be sent to jail, and the worst damage this case that he had spent so long on preparing could do to you is put you in a couple of easy debts and kill off a couple monster clients. He knows that he's no match against you, and he's playing dirty. He's trying to get you to sign his phony settlement by flattering you. He's exploiting the fact that you're a woman. Don't let him, Helga, please! Just don't let him! Do it for yourself, do it for your family, for your honor, for your gender!"  
  
Helga was shook up, angered, confused, frustrated by the seeming truth coming out of Phoebe's mouth. But she was unwilling to believe, she would far rather lose herself in his unfaithful essence than find herself in the asperity of reality. What did she care of herself, of her family, of her honor, of her gender, when her heart beat so fast that she feared it might explode?  
  
"I love him, Phoebe!" Helga cried, "And I cannot help feeling that way. He is the reason I eat, the reason I drink, the reason I breathe! He is my only reason, Phoebe, and if keeping him with me forever, if having his heart for an eternity requires only that I sign my name on a little dotted line, then the hell with it." She reached into her purse and pulled out a pen. Then, sloppily, uncertainly, she scribbled her signature onto the paper and Arnold's formal revenge was completed.  
  
Phoebe sat back and studied her hysterical friend solemnly. She knew that once Helga had made up her mind, nothing could change it. Nothing.  
  
"I hope he feels the same way about you as you feel about him," she finally said and smiled, "If he does, I greatly anticipate the wedding."  
  
The two long time friends exchanged good-natured grins, validating the eternal bond between them.  
  
"So, what will you be drinking today in the name of Arnold?" Phoebe joked.  
  
"How about Champagne?"  
  
"In the morning?"  
  
"What can I say?" Helga smiled, "I like to live on the edge."  
  
  
  
"Has this ever happened to you before?" Natasha asked, her face distorted.  
  
Natasha was a young, Russian beauty who had just immigrated to the United States and was in search of new adventures. She had never expected that her first job as a cleaning lady would turn into such an exciting plot. Arnold knew that he could not allow Helga overtake him, and the best way to deal with impending emotion was to have unattached, unrestrained sex. This he found in his new and interesting prospect Natasha, whose accent penetrated his deepest notes, but nevertheless, rose to no avail. The climax was dull. Arnold could not get it up.  
  
"Is that an appropriate question?" he asked bitterly, sinking into the pillow, "I don't think you have the right to ask me that."  
  
"Come down," she said, "I did not want to hurt your feelings."  
  
"You didn't hurt my feelings, what makes you think you hurt my feelings?"  
  
"You're acting---" she groped for words, "not usual."  
  
"How do you know how I usually act?"  
  
"I heard from other girls."  
  
"What girls are those?" he asked bitterly.  
  
"The girls I job with," she said naively, "they say you're the king of 'one night stands,' a real prostitute."  
  
Arnold looked up, alarmed, "prostitute?"  
  
"Slut is the word," she said in her horrible English, "they refer to you as The Slut. They send every new girl to you, she has to have a story to get accepted into the group. It's a little bit funny. Boy, do I have a story to tell."  
  
Arnold could not believe what she was saying, "You wanted to have sex with me because of your little cleaning sorority or whatever?"  
  
"Well, yes!" She giggled, "you didn't think me or any girl did it because of your stupid stories, did you?"  
  
"But wait a second---"  
  
"You big bad macho man," she giggled, her accent began to upset him, "you think you can disrespect women and they will respect you. It's not true. Women show as much respect for men as men show for woman. You don't respect women, women will not respect you."  
  
She began to dress while Arnold groped for words to no avail.  
  
"So, why did you go soft?" she suddenly asked, "what happened? Is it impotence?"  
  
"Of course not!" Arnold exclaimed in indignation.  
  
"Then it must be another girl. It's always one of two things."  
  
"What about stress at work?" "Not working, Lola said you love work."  
  
"How about me just not being attracted enough to you?"  
  
Natasha giggled, "I'm gorgeous, that's not the problem. It's another girl. The slut is in love."  
  
The Slut, indeed, was in love. He was in love with Lila, but, nonetheless, this never happened before.  
  
"It's okay," Natasha smiled warmly, "I won't tell anyone."  
  
She walked out of the room and, in the nude, Arnold followed her toward the door. He had to redeem himself.  
  
"Wait!" he exclaimed, "I think I can do it now."  
  
She snickered softly, "It was good meeting you, Arnold. If you can do it, I suggest you do it to that girl."  
  
She opened the door and encountered Helga, dressed in a pink cocktail dress, with a with a large purse in one hand, while the other was reaching for the doorbell.  
  
"And here she is," Natasha smiled and walked away, leaving the pair alone, to settle their fates once and for all. 


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter 8  
  
  
  
Helga entered the room, studying him with an unrecognized _expression on her face. Instinctively Arnold rushed to his room and threw on pants and a shirt. However, by the time he had come out again, thirty seconds later, Helga was no longer there. He could not let her get away. A part of him was worried about his plans of revenge collapsing, another part was worried about something else.  
  
He ran through the agape door and saw her body fleeing towards the elevator. He rushed after her and grabbed the trembling shoulders, spinning her around until he met her gaze. At that point, Helga slapped him across the face with such hostility that he moved backwards, releasing his grip of her as she began speedily clicking on the elevator button. He grabbed her once again, confining her arms and placing his hand over her mouth when she began to hysterically scream.  
  
"Don't do this!" he whispered forcefully into her ear, "we need to talk about this, and you can walk into my apartment the proper way or I can carry you in there.  
  
She bit his hand, her teeth roughly digging into his skin until blood began to rush through. Arnold could not believe the hate that she felt for him. Helga began to run toward the stairs, but Arnold chased her down, confining her from the back like a stray jacket, leaving only her long, thin legs to wobble in an attempt to free herself.  
  
"Let me go you dirty bastard!" she screamed at him.  
  
"Not until you talk to me," he screamed in return.  
  
"We have nothing left to talk about!"  
  
"Let me be the judge of that!" With great difficulty, Arnold pulled Helga into his apartment and sealed the door shut.  
  
"Helga, this was not what you think!"  
  
She laughed, "How stupid do you think I am? Oh, don't even answer that, I know the answer. Stupid enough for you to set me up and manipulate me into-- -"  
  
Her body was trembling and tears were gushing through her pale blue eyes. Arnold could not believe the wrenching emotions that his heart began to experience. What was going on? This was not the first time a woman had gotten hysterical in his presence, but he felt the most excruciating longing for her to forgive him. It was not guilt that was striking him, it was something else. Unfortunately, he was unable to figure out what that something else was.  
  
"Helga, I'm sorry," he said, "I'm truly, earnestly sorry."  
  
"Now I understand," she sighed, "now I understand. And to think that I was so blind, that I allowed myself to be so blind!"  
  
"Don't do this---"  
  
"How dare you tell me not to do this? I can do anything I want to do, I am a free person, I decide my own destiny, and you will not be able to control me. You thought that if you made me feel loved you might have been able to get your way, but your plan didn't work. You're just a little ant, and BBB will never surrender to you. Because that's all you cared about, right? Getting revenge on my father? Destroying BBB?"  
  
"Yes," he said reluctantly, "that's all I ever cared about."  
  
She sighed, her eyes were watery. This was not the response she wanted to hear. He had failed the test of love, and now, Helga knew with all certainty that Arnold never had never would love her. At last, she had found her closure, and suddenly, everything ceased to matter.  
  
"Don't look at me like that, don't you dare give me that look. That's the look of contempt, of pity of. that's the look you give a crazy person," she cried.  
  
"Helga, please, don't do this, don't make a scene, don't drive yourself crazier---"  
  
"I'm not crazy, Arnold. As a matter of fact, I'm very sane. I mean, how else would you expect me to respond?"  
  
"I expected you to respond coolly and solemnly, and understandingly. I never thought you were capable of creating this drama."  
  
"Drama?" she laughed through her tears, "It's all so easy for you, isn't it? To be blind, to be completely ignorant of the feelings of others? Despite our different backgrounds, you and I had something in common always. We both loved Arnold, and maybe that's why it lasted for so long."  
  
"What lasted for so long? Helga, I want to understand you but I---"  
  
"Has it ever occurred to you what meaning you've had in my life? Not since last week, no, Arnold. Last week was not even one eight of it. I lived alongside you for my entire life, I've dreamed of you, I've cried of you. Did you ever know?"  
  
He had to admit, he had never known, "No." Arnold suddenly noticed the resonance in his tone, as if his deepest emotions were ready to emerge to the top.  
  
"No," Helga mused, "you never did. You were too blind to notice."  
  
Arnold did not respond. He still could not believe what she was saying.  
  
"You look at me now and you see only the bad, only the wrong, only the dirty."  
  
"Helga--- "  
  
"No! Don't try to speak, let me finish, Arnold!" She began breathing heavily and convulsing, "has it ever occurred to you that I'm a human being?"  
  
In truth, it never had occurred to him, not until now.  
  
"I'm a human being just like you, and everyone else. But you've refused to see that, you only took in the bad and you exploited it to its farthest extent, not even realizing the truth, not even realizing what you were to me!"  
  
He sighed sadly, "What was I to you?"  
  
She shook her head, he was na?ve by nature, "Arnold, you were my first everything."  
  
"Your first everything?" He attempted to bring cynicism into the conversation but she disallowed it.  
  
"You were my first sigh. You were my first smile.my first tear."  
  
Her words bounced off the walls and at him, surging at a great speed and bringing what was once an empire to its knees.  
  
"You were my first whisper, my first poem, my first laughter," she paused and looked at the floor, "first boost of esteem."  
  
Inwardly, Arnold felt himself being torn apart, yet outwardly, he stood still and watched her with a stoical _expression on his face.  
  
"You were my first provocation, my first inspiration, my first desire!"  
  
"Helga!" he tried to protest, not really knowing what.  
  
"You were my first kiss, Arnold! My first kiss and my first love," she finished and silence overtook the atmosphere of the room.  
  
"I don't know what to say," he spoke at last.  
  
Helga ignored him, she was coming to an epiphany, and felt the need to keep going, "I have always loved you very deeply, Arnold. Never in my life did I stop loving you. Even on that night, when I declared that I hated you, deep within I was bursting in flames.  
  
That night, he had tried with such perverse attempts to forget that night.  
  
Helga threw her hands in the air, "I love you, love you, love you!"  
  
He could not believe how wonderful those words sounded to his ears, as they formulated into an abyss as soon as they were generated by her sweet lips.  
  
"But you just had to be my first everything, my first love and my first heartbreak."  
  
The air was still, as it readied for the final battle.  
  
Helga reached into her purse, taking out the folder he had given her earlier that day, and threw it carelessly at him, as the papers soared through the room, making a pathetic mess of what could not be undone.  
  
"Here," she said, "these are all the papers you asked me to sign. We won't be going to court after all, Arnold, the fate of my---someone's company is now in your hands."  
  
"You can't expect me to accept it like that, can you?"  
  
"You're the only person I can expect everything of."  
  
"Helga," he said softly, "I am sorry. I admit I made a mistake, but I don't want this to happen---"  
  
"You don't want what to happen, Arnold?"  
  
"I admit, at first, I did want this to happen but now it is all different," for the first time in his life, he was being honest with both, Helga, and himself. "This company means the world to you, I can see that now," he was mumbling, it was somewhat difficult to understand his words, "I wanted revenge on someone else, not you. I wanted revenge on that cruel, egotistical person that everyone despised. But you're not that person, and I don't want you to be hurt. Have the company, I'll drop the case, I'm willing to do that to rectify not being able to feel in return what you feel for me. If you cannot have me to love, at least have BBB. I'm sorry you're hurt, Helga, I don't want that anymore."  
  
"Oh," she giggled crazily, "you know, you're very difficult to satisfy. You know what else?" her voice softened, yet stayed firm. She was emotional but not dramatic. She was being herself for the first time in her life. "You broke my heart and I no longer care about anything. I don't care, and maybe it's better this way."  
  
"Helga, it can't be better this way if your heart is broken. Please, let me help you with your problems."  
  
"What's the point, Arnold?" she cried, "What's the point of working, stressing myself, pushing myself onward for my father's company?" Helga paused and thought for a moment, "What's the point if I can't love it? If I have nothing to love it with?"  
  
"Don't say that, Helga, you have everything!"  
  
She sighed, "not anymore. I don't love anything anymore."  
  
Suddenly, Helga realized something about herself. It was a strange sort of feeling, she felt like a bird who's broken wing had healed, an aunt who's back was freed of the heavy load. Something clicked within her and she knew exactly what it was. For all these years, her passion for Arnold had been gnawing at her relentlessly, without giving up, without giving in. But now, the pain she had so often felt in her heart suddenly disappeared and she was healthy woman once again.  
  
What is the anatomy of love, its beginning and its end? It starts out by your mind noticing through the eyes a man or a woman unlike the others. The mind proceeds by creating a blizzard in the pit of the stomach. This blizzard travels up, slowly heating up and melting, recrystallizing into magma as it makes its way through the corridors of the chest. Suddenly, this magma begins to envelop the heart, creating a protective barrier around it, an impermeable, unbreakable barrier. This barrier begins heating the inside of the muscle, thus lighting an ever-burning flame. This flame, sends some of its heat to the brain, which is unused to the latter element. As a result the mind begins to malfunction at the mere sight of the same man or woman who had triggered the previous reactions. As it is sending bogus signals (which it will later regret) to the other parts of the body, it secretly telegrams some of the impending heat to the stomach, where some of the blizzard yet remains, causing a meltdown, as the excess water travel's toward the loins and meddles with them, causing a sensation arousal that spurts violently at the brain, making the rest of the body leap in an extraordinary sense of excitement. Unfortunately, if seeing the person is the only thing of which one is capable, the body gets used to the reaction, and heat begins to disappear. The hot barrier around the heart cools and turns to charcoal. Nevertheless, the little flame within the heart continues to burn. It is fed by a universal wood that the mind harvests entitled Hope. The body may remain in this semi dormant state for minutes, or it may remain for years. This state is ended when too little hope comes through the mind to feed the little flame, but as it is about to extinguish, a sudden jolt, a sudden revelation, something unthinkable, something unfathomable sends not Hope to the heart, not wood, but disappointment, gasoline. The little flame suddenly grows to gigantic proportions burns through the walls of the heart, causing the barrier to catch fire. Everything within begins to burn, creating a purgatory, extreme calamity. And suddenly, the fire dies down, rapidly, this fire disappears, and once the flames are gone, all that is left is debris, which decomposes, and exits the body through tears. Emptiness prevails, except for the little glass effigy of what the heart used to be. However, as soon as the ears hear the voice of the man or the woman, the mind sends a high pitched signal throughout the body, which causes the glass to explode, as its fragments cut into the interior walls surrounding them. This is very painful and destructive, and it lasts a long time. Nevertheless, eventually, the fragments begin to dissolve in the thin air and the wounds begin to heal. The body bounces back to its former, glorious state, and the nostalgia sends a sensation to your muscles, causing them to flex and relax, it tells them that the worst is over. This was how Helga felt at this moment. She no longer loved him.  
  
Arnold looked over her face, it was so beautiful.  
  
"What are you going to do now?" he finally asked.  
  
"I'm going to London," she said, "I've had some offers. I'm going to start a new life. I'd really not like to go into particulars with you right now."  
  
"I understand," he said solemnly.  
  
"I'm going now," she said softly.  
  
She turned and began walking to the door. Arnold suddenly realized that he couldn't let her go, he couldn't let it end this way.  
  
"Helga!" he exclaimed. She turned and he encountered the frightening look of indifference on her face.  
  
"Yes, Arnold?"  
  
"If you're ever in town again," he said, "Call me, we'll have breakfast, maybe even some champagne, just for old times sake."  
  
"Champagne in the morning?" she smiled.  
  
"Yes," he smiled back. They shared a moment, but it vanished just as easily as it appeared.  
  
"I'd love to," she said, putting hope back into his heart, "But I never did like this town."  
  
Helga was ready to let go. Without further words, she exited his apartment, and on her walk toward the elevator, not once did she look back.  
  
Arnold watched Helga leave, and he knew for certain now that this was the last time he was ever going to see her. 


	9. Chapter Nine

Epilogue  
  
Helga G Pataki looked out the window of the plane, as it soared over London, as streaks of golden rays spilled across the black nothingness, soon, dawn would arise against the breathtakingly beautiful sky. She was in a state of trans; she was blanked from life into a little nook that consisted of the sky and the music from her headphones, the sight of the screen of her laptop. It wasn't going to be long now. Soon, the plane would land, she would step onto the ground, and find herself in a peculiar new place, a place where she would be able to start clean yet again, a place where she could heal and forget about the horrors of the past. What a place this was indeed! She had her life before her; after all, she was only twenty-eight. She sighed and took off her headphones.  
  
"Excuse me," she said to a passing flight attendant.  
  
"Yes?" she smiled.  
  
"How much longer?"  
  
"Not so long."  
  
"Can I have some chardonnay, please?" she asked.  
  
"Certainly, Miss Pataki," the stewardess replied, "Wait just a moment."  
  
Helga smiled and looked back at the computer. On it, she saw her current bank balance; fifty billion dollars resided in several accounts that belonged to her. This was what remained of BBB, what Football Head, Inc. had good-naturedly designated to her after selling the company. Helga was going to make sure that the money was put to a new use.  
  
Financially, she was bound for the most extraordinarily unthinkable. Emotionally, however--- To phrase her impending, unstoppable thoughts more correctly, they must be molded into poetic form, bounded by lines, restrained by anagrams.  
  
Is love existent? I do not believe it is.  
  
Or if it is, it is not the right kind.  
  
I fall in love on every single day,  
  
With every man who's clear complexion shined.  
  
But then I met someone with whom, I thought,  
  
I had experienced true bliss.  
  
Something outside of normalcy,  
  
Of indignation and abyss.  
  
But I admit that I made a mistake.  
  
He and I merely were not meant to be.  
  
I put myself up for a high stake,  
  
And quickly leveled to a low degree.  
  
I did not love him, nor do I right now,  
  
My heart is frozen and my mind is clear,  
  
And at this time, I must accept  
  
That I will never call someone "My dear."  
  
What causes this, if true love never did exist,  
  
That drives a woman to insanity,  
  
To give up everything and not resist,  
  
To the clutches of abducting vanity?  
  
Is it better to having had and lost,  
  
Or not to having had at all?  
  
To having always lived in winter,  
  
Or watching summer dwindle into fall?  
  
My hair is tangled and my mind made up.  
  
I will give up on this impertinent dawn.  
  
Although I have nothing to live for,  
  
I must find courage to live on.  
  
Suddenly, a thought popped into Helga's mind. Perhaps, her heart had not been broken at all. Perhaps she did not love Arnold enough for him to have such an effect on her physiology. Perhaps these years amounted up to nothing but a constant, heated, absolutely titanic infatuation. Perhaps true love still lay before her, perhaps true happiness was not so far away. Somewhere out there was still a man waiting for her, somewhere out there---  
  
"We will land in the International Airport of London, England," the pilot said, "shortly, the seatbelt sign will turn on. It is fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit outside on September 18th, and the arrival time is set to six a.m. We will be arriving on time."  
  
She grinned nostalgically.  
  
"Here is your drink," the stewardess handed Helga the beverage.  
  
"Thank you," she said and the attendant sped away.  
  
"We will be arriving on time," Helga repeated to herself after watching the woman leave and sipped champagne from the tall glass.  
  
The timing couldn't be more perfect.  
  
  
  
THE END 


End file.
